…Don't ask. It's better if you do. Not. Ask.
Bandanas.
How could one word – one simple piece of cloth – be so PERFECT?
Obsessed? Pshhh! NO, I'm not obsessed. I simply love bandanas. It's hard not to love perfection. I mean, when hasn't a girl been in love with me?
I just don't get why no one else can see their awesomeness. They're turds. All of them. They're turdier than turdles. "Turdles"…? …Turtles? TURTLES! They're all turdy turtles. The turdiest.
Anyway.
When I was a little model – a hot, hot model – in Minnesota, I was told something devastating: my wardrobe was out-of-style! Outdated. Obsolete. Old. Fugly. At the time, bandanas were in. Everywhere you looked, you could see bandanas. And grunge, but…well…yeah. It was the '90s.
SO.
One fine day, my momma and our personal shopper Margie – a.k.a. Aunt Margie, the broke moocher aunt from my dad's side of the family who was forced to become our hairdresser, shopper, maid, whatever – took me to the nearest MallMart. Now, I was appalled. MALLMART? That place was for POOR, FASHIONLESS SLOBS. I was horrified… until I saw them – the love of my life, the thing that now dominates 95.9998 percent of my closet – the BANDANAS.
When I saw that preposterously perfect printed paisley pattern, I was practically paralyzed.
I asked – no. I commanded – that we buy six of every color. Being a six-year-old, six was, of course, my lucky number. I went home with two hundred and eighty-eight bandanas that day, and I have kept every single one. Today, I have around 6,144 in my collection – and I have one for every occasion, plus extras.
To this day, no man, woman, or child has ever seen me without a bandana.
And no one ever will.
"Uhhh… James?"
"Yeah?"
"All I asked you was why the floor was covered in bandanas. It's been two hours, and I still don't know why!"
"…Gustavo, that is an interesting question. …Wanna know how I fell in love with Barracuda Man Spray?"
"NO!"
"Well, it all started a few years ago…"
"JAMES!"