My LIttle Tailor
I bought Erik a new pair of jeans since his one pair is worn in places that are indisputable clues to his rearranging his boxers every five seconds. I bought them completely unaware that he had a drawerful of jeans Rune had bought him at Target--all of which still had the tags and stickers attached. My hope was that my magnanimous purchase would give my eyes a break too, cuz I can't stop staring at the worn places, which I'm sure must give him the creeps. But nope, my eyes would be denied that resite because he decided to proclaim himself an expert tailor by holing himself up in my bathroom, armed with nothing more than a sewing kit, to change those new jeans to his liking. He turned his new jeans inside out and put safety pins along the sides of each let to make them very narrow. Then he sewed them up (for at lease two hours) going up and down the seams many times. Afterwards, he paraded in front of us, modeling his achievement with all the pride of a peacock in a harem of 50 peahens. It was all I could do to smile, bite my lip, and say something noncommittal like, “Wow, you put a lot of effort into those.” Rune, however, had no problem pointing out the fact that his legs were now two little toothpicks stuck into tennis shoes rather than olives. He also (helpfully) pointed out the giant bulge along the inseam of his right leg that would leave anyone wondering if he had some freaky disease plaguing him with random subcutaneous fat deposits the size of Rhode Island. After all these pointers, which Erik didn’t seem to find the least bit helpful, he was commanded by the Ayatollah Rune to undo the damage immediately by ripping out the two miles of thread and unfastening the 157 safety pins. At the very least he should be made aware of the fact that metal detectors the world over would scream in alarm as soon as he got within a one-mile radius of them. Well, so much for Erik St Laurent.