Last night I decided I needed a new t-shirt. I needed several new t-shirts. This is not a normal thought to have at 9pm.
So, after I located the supervillain cat I was babysitting and made sure she had sufficient levels of biscuits and cuddles to prevent her from ending the world in fire and darkness, I drove out to The Warehouse to see if I could locate something that would hide my pasty flesh from an unknowing public. The current bane of my existence are t-shirts that are just slightly too short as they seem to creep up while I work out and I end up wearing a sweaty fabric necklace. I have a similar problem with jeans, they hang just low enough on me to cause public outrage, but not low enough to make me look cool.
Actually no pair of jeans will make me look cool. That’s an entirely unreasonable thing to expect of denim.
Anyway, I decided that driving to The Warehouse was an entirely appropriate use of my time. For anyone outside of New Zealand, The Warehouse is a big box chain store that sells everything from garden tools to furniture to heavily discounted books…and clothes. It’s also pretty much the only place open if you decide you suddenly need one of these things late at night.
I pulled into the parking lot in darkness and got out of my car to come face to face with two of the biggest human beings I’ve ever met in person. One of them would have been very close to seven feet tall and big with it, while the other was perhaps six foot six and wearing a full metal knee brace that looked like he’d stolen a piece of a futuristic exoskeleton from the military.
We stared at each other for a moment across the concrete, the only light was from a puttering streetlamp.
Bad street lamps make for great mood lighting.
They nodded at me. I nodded back.
Then they launched back into the dance routine they’d been practicing before I’d rudely interrupted. It’s hard to describe, but considering that one of them was hobbled with a brace they were doing a good job of hitting the choreography.
As I walked into the store the bigger of the two said to his friend ‘no no, let me do the twirly bit!’.
When I came back out they were gone, and I was a little sad. I never got to see them attempt whatever the twirly bit was. I feel like I’ve missed out.
Wherever you are giant dancing men, I hope your performance went well.