Your Honor, I stand accused of disgusting myself.
Exhibit A: I went in search of a “LOVE THE O.C.” t-shirt after the Snook told me he spotted them in the Imperial Arcade. I told myself that I would only wear it “ironically,” but everybody knows that’s a lie, right?
Exhibit B: I hesitated once I determined that the vile SuprÃ© had the shirt for sale, but ultimately I went in anyway. I tried not to look directly at the jelly shoes or camouflaged ra-ra skirts.
Exhibit C: I spent fifteen humiliating minutes searching through racks of XXS sizes to find the one single Large tank top in the whole bloody store.
Exhibit D: I paid $20 for a shirt too small to wear out of the house. (But not too small to flaunt on my DeskCam.)
Exhibit D: The salesman adamantly refused to let me leave without a flaming pink reusable SuprÃ© shopping bag which I then had to carry all the way home, thus announcing my shame to all the world.