in every fairy tale that's ever been told, there's a simple balance to maintain. for every heroine, there must be a villain. and for every villain, there must be something he does to royally piss off the heroine to warrant to fairy tale in the first place.
this fairy tale, children, tells a very scary lesson. gather round as we tell the story of the metrosexual man and his ever expanding closet.
... once upon a time, a metrosexual man lived with his wife in their humble suburban abode. one with small closets and an even smaller kitchen, but my friend, that is a different story, indeed. no, our metrosexual man cut a fine cloth. with impeccable outfits that fit his figure just so, the metrosexual man had an outfit for every occasion and more. his closets were jammed with dress shirts from every designer macy's carried. dress and casual corduroys, cargos and jeans of all fits filled his hangers. sweaters and vests, hats and tees.
the problem, my friends, is the metrosexual man's addiction to shopping. not only must he feed this addiction by continually adding new pieces to his collection, he shares one scary connection to the one person his wife loathes, his mother. just like his mother, our metrosexual man never throws anything out -- ever.
his poor wife, our heroine, must deal with this growing mountain of clothing. the metrosexual man does share in the responsibility of keeping house, he does do the laundry, but fails to ever put it away. our heroine believes it may lead to him confront the issue of where to put all of his shit. so our heroine is faced with this dilemma.
like a bulemic, our heroine is accustomed to the "binge and purge" shopping routine -- buy new things, purge the old (or ill-fitting) but our metrosexual man is not. and no matter how many times she tries to explain it to him, he does not or cares not to understand. again, giving credence to the genetic condition known as "pack-us rat-us" to be passed down through his mother's line because they never, ever throw anything away.
twenty-two black t-shirts. 15 polos. hockey jerseys that span multiple teams and multiple styles. shiny shirts that no longer fit his growing man boobs but are distinctive in their appearance so if they were to disappear, their presence would be missed.
woah, what is our heroine to do? throw up her hands and wail? kick and scream, throw up a fight?
no, our heroine is smarter than that. the very heroine that thought the shoe monster into existence is smarter than the average bear. she has undertaken a slow and hopefully successful mission to cull the closet of the metrosexual man.
one t-shirt at a time if she must.
mwah-ha-ha-ha.
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