You’ve spent an entire day shopping for clothes you can wear to the office when it’s 92° with 92% humidity. Finally, you stumble into Bebe. Your hair is flat from the repeated cycles of sweating on the street and cooling in the air conditioned stores. Your whole body feels sticky. You walk with your arms away from your sides because you can’t stand to feel your skin touching anything else.You just want your day to be over, so you can walk up the six flights of stairs to your apartment because the elevator’s broken again and lie on the floor with the fan next to your face.
That’s when you see it.
Like a mirage in the desert, a taupe suit appears. A suit without sleeves. A suit without pant legs. Is it even a suit? Normally, you’d stop to consider this, but you’re far past normal. “It’s taupe,” you think to yourself. “Taupe is respectable. This can be work-appropriate. Taupe is a serious color, and I’m totally serious. Grown-ups wear taupe. I can wear taupe. Oh my god the tile floor is so cool on my face.”
So the sales associate finally asks if you’re okay because you’re lying with your cheek pressed against the floor. You assure her that you are, although you’re clearly not – the humidity has made you delirious, and in retrospect, you’re not even sure that really was a sales associate because it might have been a mannequin. But you buy the suit.
You stumble home, are nearly hit by three bike messenger, climb the six flights of stairs to your apartment, and lie on the floor with the fan by your head. The bag has been thrown somewhere in the apartment. You don’t even remember putting it down, and you won’t find it again for another week and a half. When you do, you peer into the bag, confused, trying to figure out what it is.
That’s when you realize: you own a short suit, and you can’t find the receipt.