We wear fabric all day long. And then we go to bed and spend hours on end tossing and turning between more fabric, whether we’re nakey or no.
We spend all our lives in fabric, with fabric in contact with the most sensitive organ of the body. (The skin, loike)
And most people haven’t a fucking clue what it is they are rubbing off and sweating onto 24 hours a day.
I just had an old biddy in my shop, looking at the mu-mu’s that were miles too small for her… She shrugs this off as “being made for anorexics”. She refers to herself as having “a strong build” as if her pudgy rolls of mottled flesh gave her extra lifting and pushing powers. It’s not her fault the clothes are made for pussies with eating disorders, that’s the crazy ass fashion industry. Those bingo wings apparently hide some awesome muscle deep below. Whatever. It’s not a rant about obesity….
But this jabba of a woman, aside from boring the tight sexy pants off me with stories about her grandchildren (clever grandchildren undoubtedly strong as powereating oxen too) also regaled me with her fabric preferences. “This is a lovely fabric,” she exhales, fingering a cotton tentlike structure. “If only you sold fabric too, I’d buy some and make myself a dress. It’s a very fresh, cool fabric.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s cotton.” I educate her. “Just normal, lightweight cotton. You can buy it in any fabric shop.”
“Ahh” she says. “Cotton. Yes, very good fabric for the summer. I can never find it or I’d make myself a nice dress”
I’m confused. This woman apparently knows how to make clothes, something that is actually pretty tricky. And yet she can’t recognise the most basic, most widely used fabric that has been around longer than the written word. What’s wrong with this woman? We wear clothes all the time. I know in this woman’s lifetime there have been loads of modernisations and newly invented fabrics, like rayon and nylon polyester and the like, and that’s fair enough if you don’t immediately know which is which. I mean why should you? But cotton… her repugnant sheets are cotton. The same fucking cotton as the dress she’s squidging between two Lidl sausage-style meat product fingers. She could just cut up a sheet and make a dress. Or a couple of sheets, to cover her Herculean frame.
There is no excuse for not being able to at least hazzard a guess that something is made of cotton. I know I sell clothes to eke out a living so I do have some basic advantage over pedestrians in the field of cloth, but we spend so much less time eating and you would have to be retarded not to know the difference between potatoes and broccoli if you put them in your mouth, so there is no excuse really.
People, know your basic fabrics. And then you have real silk and fake silk… like polyester with a satin effect. It’s pretty clear that shit’s not silk, sorry but cop the fuck on. And then the real leather/fake leather debacle. I know some fake leather is a pretty good imitation, but it’s still as obvious as a brick through the face that one is cow skin and the other is squeaky imitation plastic crap that will split right up the crack of the ass as soon as you do a single excited lunge. Also the price should be a good indicator. I sell fake leather wallets that cost ten euros. They are so clearly plastic it is unbelievable, and people are all “ooh, these are real leather right?” and they sniff the wallet, an instinctive behaviour, like a vestigial tail on the ass of shopping, from a past when humans knew flesh from imitation, although that knowledge is lost now. Only the mysterious, cursory whiff of the surface remains now, with customers disregarding to even process the scent in any way. I see this with fruit too. People don’t know how to check if fruit is good fruit or bad fruit. But still they prod, sniff, poke, and do the pretend weighing in one hand which doesn’t make any sense at all… and I’m guilty of this too, but it’s just a weird shopping habit I probably copied from my mother, who also can’t pick fruit to save her life.
Picking fruit to save your life, that reminds me of a joke. It’s the only joke I remember because it’s the only remotely clean joke I could tell my little sisters, that isn’t racist or otherwise offensive.
Three guys wash up on a desert island and start wandering through the jungle, because yes there is a jungle on this desert island, it’s a special island. So they wander through the lush foliage of the desert island and come across a crazy ass tribe. The leader of the tribe is like, “hey guys, I’m going to kill and eat you all unless you do this one simple test for me, for some reason.” So the guys are scared shitless and agree to do the test obviously. The leader is like, right the first thing is you all have to head off into the jungle and come back with a piece of fruit each. So the guys are like, great, easy, and fuck off into the jungle. So the leader is there with his tribe and the first guy comes back with a peach, and he’s like here you go leader guy, hope that’s ok. So the leader is like, yeah now for the second part of your test. And he says to the guy that he has to put the peach up his ass, and hold it there for three minutes without showing a single flicker in facial expression. Or he dies. So the guy does it and he’s there for like a minute before the peach fuzz starts tickling his ass in an uncontrollable manner, and he’s going crazy trying to suppress any expression but eventually cracks and his face twitches. So the leader is like, you lose, you die, and he kills him. The next guy meanwhile comes back with a single grape. He’s all apologetic, saying he couldn’t reach the bunch and only got a grape but thought it still counted… and the leader is like, yeah that’s fine. Now stick it up your hole, etc. So the guy sticks the grape up there and he can’t even feel it, he’s sailing through the three minutes. But with about 10 seconds left, he just bursts out laughing uncontrollably. There’s tears streaming down his face and the leader is like, you fucking tool, you were nearly safe, why did you start laughing like that? Now you die. And the guy is like, still hiccoughing and trying not to laugh, “Dude I’m so fucking sorry but like I didn’t even feel the grape in there, but then I saw Harry coming through the trees over there with a fucking pineapple…”
I like that joke, but I mean it’s my only joke… I can’t remember any other jokes and I’m sure I’ve heard some good ones. People never tell you jokes any more. Of course it was probably not the most sensible joke to teach a small child because she retells it to me all the time and it’s always longer and makes no fucking sense, and it’s basically just evolved into being about these guys who put things up their asses and I didn’t realise it would turn down that road… and she tells it at school and my name is attached to it and the teacher always gives me a haunted, fearful look when I pick the child up from school.
Ach there is a fucking bitch in my shop now, on the phone. Pretending to look at clothes, chatting away on the phone. It’s too noisy outside, huh? Well I’m waiting to have a smoke outside so I do not like being used in this way. What I like to do in these situations is pump the volume up on my music in stages, so she doesn’t realise imediately, and then she notices she can’t hear and the volume heightening becomes apparent and she realises she’s not welcome, and then rushes out shooting me a sidelong, unappreciative and resentful glance as she goes. YEAH AND STAY OUT, is the subtext on my patronising smirk back. Mwahahahaha fuck you.