"What are three things you can not get in the North, Alex?"
I , as a rule, do not get my shirts laundered up here, Koda does not care if my pocket is broken or not , as we walk down the trail every day. ( I sometimes worry about it). But, seeing as how this is the big EPISCOPALIAN shin dig this weekend, I figured I would. I go to the dry cleaners that I use here in town, drop off my shirts and ask for extra heavy starch. Now, that was just one extra. Back in the day it was sometimes extra, extra, extra heavy. These were some shirts for Neil as well, and I didn't want him to have his first elbow blow out on the big stage Saturday in front of the gathered muckity-mucks and all of Anglican Rochester.
Neil picked them up this afternoon, and I just sort of checked them... shock and dismay! I can do better starching watching my stories and drinking that tea that I can not get up here. It is what I would call a light medium starch at best.
Extra heavy is all together something else. My cuffs were so hard, that once, while being frisked by a overzellous police officer, I was sort of slammed into the wall of the Fulton County lock up, him thinking my cuffs were weapons. Elbows routinely burst open when doing that over under pretzel while shagging. I could wear a shirt three times and it could still sort of stand up on its own. I have known men ( ok, Delts,.. but still) who would leave a party if someone broke their pocket seal. I'll just have to make do this weekend.
It ain't fittin', it just ain't fittin'.
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