It Was the Best of Times; It Was the Worst of Times

And, as usual, it's all about clothes.

I had been thinking, while I was in the Czech Republic, of my "I Survived Dance Camp" tee shirt. Katie had found a vintage store she was rather fond of, and I mentioned that I usually go to a shop in Calgary that could not really, even very charitably, be described as vintage. Or even "second hand". It's "used", plain and simple.

There is a lot of crap there. If you don't mind (and I don't) going through 300 hangers to find one shirt that you couldn't get anywhere else, it's a great place. And I have some wonderful, wonderful shirts that I've picked up there. While I was reminiscing about some of my favorites, I realized that it had been ages since I wore the simple black tee with white lettering kind of scrolled along it: I Survived Dance Camp. Now, since I've turned into a dance machine, some of the irony has worn off, but it's still a fantastic shirt. I wondered where it had gone.

And there was another one I had been missing, too. It has the brother from Napoleon Dynamite in kind of a crudely-drawn coat of arms, and in a banner scrolling above and below his picture, it says "I'm training to become a cage fighter". I saw the shirt before I had any idea of the movie, and, even so, it was the funniest thing I had ever seen on something I could wear. I lent it to Josh when he used that movie as a theme for one of the YFC service projects that he organized. To be fair, it took him a while to get it back, but I seem to have forgotten when he did, because I asked him about it just a few months ago.

Anyways, I decided to go through my tees today to see if I could find "Dance Camp" and, sure enough, "Cage Fighter" was right there with it. Wonderful, wonderful news. And Josh, if you're reading, I'm sorry for not remembering that you had given it back. I shouldn't have doubted you.

Thus ends the "best of times".

On the other end of the fashion-induced euphoria spectrum, I seem to have lost my favorite boxers. Now this both troubles and puzzles me. Troubles, obviously, because they were my favorites, and I'm sad not to have them in my life any more. Puzzles, because, unlike an umbrella, or a book, or a scarf, it seems like underwear should be a rather difficult thing to misplace. It's not like I'm taking them off indiscriminately, deciding that it's a bit too stuffy, and leaving them on the bus seat next to me.

I'm not sure where they could have gone.

While we're still trying to nail down the finer points of the terminology, the little chick's fascination with panties is such that, if she came across them, she wouldn't have hidden them somewhere. I'm quite sure she would have brought them promptly to my attention.

So, I haven't given up hope, but I'm not sure what else to do. I even checked on the back of the door in the little bathroom.

Nothing.

Rats. I guess I'm going to go train to be a cage fighter.