There. I said it. My name is Blue and I'm a sucker for beautiful clothes. Let me be more specific: I crave Ted Baker suits. Now, before you all fall off your collective chair or couch or hit a lamppost reading this confession of mine (thinking, Who in the world cares about friggin' suits anyway? He must be nuts!), we're talking British luxury suits (say it slowly) of which the inside is as beautiful as the outside (excuse #1) — plus I wear suits in the office (excuse #2). No, they're not skinny suits, thank you very much. I'm not as brave a guy as the Italian in my classroom. Not yet I'm not. My X-mas decoration doesn't need a darker shade of blue.
So what does it mean to be addicted to Ted Baker Luxury suits? Well, maybe this'll illustrate the seriousness of my problem. Bear with me:
Neighbor: 'Howdy neighbor, if you don't mind my asking, how come you're still driving that crappy old car that keeps breaking down on you?'
Blue: 'Ted Baker.'
Neighbor: 'Who is he?'
Blue: 'Good question. Someone who really knows how to suck me dry.'
Blue: 'That's right... Don't ask.'
Brother: 'I'm so glad I moved. I thought you said you wanted to move too.'
Blue: 'You know I did.'
Brother: 'So what's keeping you?'
Blue: 'Ted Baker.'
Brother: 'Ah him again.'
Blue: 'I know.'
As a psychologist wannabee, I advised myself to dig deep inside and identify the root of the problem. So I took my shovel and started digging and digging and — Blue's inner-voice #1: 'Hey, a treasure trove...' Blue's inner-voice #2: 'Not now. Keep digging!' — digging, digging, until I saw a light, a beautiful light, a light so bright I might have accidentally stumbled on the flames of hell themselves, but it was something else. It was shiny and attractive. It was the image of my wife. There. Problem solved: she did it, and I suddenly remembered how it all began.
My Bollywood Princess (and, boy, is she a princess, alright) once showed me the latest addition to her impressive wardrobe (you know, the one that encouraged me to build another 15 foot closet)... a long n' flowery Ted Baker coat. It was super feminine and at least worth four tires. Throw in a steering wheel for the fun of it, and you know what I'm talking about. Yep, the Missus knows how to shop. Good thing she's got a job, too. Now, I thought there's no harm in her buying Ted Baker coats and skirts and, you know, girl stuff. We're all entitled to a healthy hobby or two. Look at me: I'm an avid collector of rare comic strips, so I understand. And then it happened. She showed me where I could buy Ted Baker suits for men. I didn't even know there was such a thing as Ted Baker for Men. I thought it was a women only type of brand. I was wrong. So wrong. So as I waited in the dressing room wondering what would happen next, Angie returned with six suits (that's right), told me to try them on ($500 each! What the heck?! Yes, I broke out in a sweat) and waited patiently for me to reappear looking like the man of her dreams, you know the one she never married.
Did I mention I hate dressing rooms? If you're a guy, you hate dressing rooms, too. In fact, I hate buying clothes unless it takes five minutes max. Sigh. So I just tried one on and looked in the mirror expecting to look like some idiot on Broadway. Hmmmm. I touched myself. I mean I touched my first Ted Baker suit. Nice sleeves. Soft fabric. Hmmmmm not bad. Firm buttocks. Superb design. (Yes, I use words like superb and splendiferously splendorous when I'm thinking and wearing a Ted Baker suit at the same time.) Not bad at a-a-a-all. What... only $500? That's gotta be a mistake! What a bargain! Hmmmm and there's more where this one came from... How about that?
Well, you know how this story ends, and I'm sure you all agree that Angie is to blame, and I mean big time. Now, as for the moral of this story, are you ready? Here it comes. Never look in the mirror when the force is weak in you. And don't listen to my wife. When she offers you a red apple, don't take a bite and expect to survive in any meaningful way. The apple is Ted Baker.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
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