Oh zippers. When you were invented you were revolutionary; you created a whole new way to, say, put on a ladies boot. You stole time back from the sticky hands of incessant buttoning. You changed the world; you were a uniter. Look at the footie pajamas I wore as a child—all would be lost without the trusty zipper to guide me. Remember those candy-cane striped ones with the butt flap? Those were good times, zipper. My extensive denim jean collection owes its fitting to you my friend. To you.
So why do you get cocky, zippers? Why do you get cheap? You were once so reliable, so straightforward—a haberdashery workhorse. Why do you simply give up on the life you have with a garment at inopportune times? At, say, a wedding? Look at all those teeth you use and if you lose a one of them then you, zipper, you give up on any sort of functionality. And not only do you stop functioning, you let all of your previous zipping go to pot. That's shoddy, zipper. Stand by your work. Stay strong in the face of injury.
And don't blame me for this, zipper. We've worked fine together in the past. Is this your passive-aggressive way of saying you think I've gained weight? Is that it, zipper? That now I'm “too big” for you to hold me all together? That's a lie, zipper and you know it. I won't be manipulated by you; I won't play your games.
And so, zipper, I wish I could quit you but I can't. I'd like to tell you that I forgive you for the spectacular wardrobe malfunction you caused me this past Sunday at David and Alana's wedding but it's still a little raw; you spoiled a perfectly good looking outfit with your breaking all the way down my back, causing me to flee with my butt virtually hanging out the back of my dress. You cut me deep, zipper. You let me down. I'm going back to buttons. It may take time to build our relationship but buttons don't hurt me like you did, zippers. Buttons stick around.
(And thank you to Leslie for this little gem:
“Run, Spooner. Run to your car, go home and change, there is no hope for this dress. Meet us at the reception, just run.”)
3 comments:
I have always hated zippers myself. You speak of the footed PJ's... I was just a little boy, barely potty trained, my mom zipped my junk up into the PJ's ala something about Mary, I, naturally, got pretty upset, but she just thought I was pitching a fit about not wanting to go to bed... sooooo traumatic, for me and mommy... zippers, I quit you, I quit you loooong long ago.
Welcome to the club Spooner.
Good job it wasn't holding up your flask as well or that would have been REALLY embarrassing.
LOVED the voicemail, btw. Really made me feel like I was part of the moment.
Douglas, oh Douglas...
That story is priceless and/or terrifying.
And somehow explains your love of all things board shorts.
Stupid zippers. I quit you.
Post a Comment