"Shawn, you said you'd help!" Gus chided, glaring at his best friend's reflection in the mirror as he rummaged through his bureau drawers for socks.
"I did not!" Shawn grumbled.
"Yes, you did!"
"No!" Shawn shook his head emphatically, bouncing sprightly as he
collapsed onto Gus' bed. "I said I'd help you pick a cool place to go
on your first date…or give you a sure-fire pick-up line…or siphon all
the gas out of her car so you could show up and be a hero. I would do
any of those things for you, Gus. What I won't do is help you pick out your first-date outfit!"
"It's not an 'outfit'!" Gus shouted, chucking the socks he'd finally decided on at Shawn's head. "I told you! It's just a shirt…and a tie…and a jacket…and pants."
"Matching pants?" Shawn demanded, dodging the projectile and folding his arms in solemn judgment.
"Of course."
Shawn shook his head, clucking reprovingly.
"Sounds like an outfit to me, Dude."
"Well, it's not." Gus insisted doggedly. "It's just…clothes."
"Then why do you need my help if it's 'just clothes'?"
"Because, Shawn!" Gus spun on his heel, marching to his closet. "It's my first date! I don't know what to wear! You're cool…kind of…what would you wear?"
Shawn rolled his eyes as Gus threw open the closet door, revealing a perfect row of neatly pressed jackets, immaculate shirts, and spotless ties all hanging on pristine wire hangers.
"First of all, I am totally cool." Shawn began pointedly, standing up and joining his friend by the door. "And, secondly, I wouldn't wear anything that came out of this closet. This is where cool comes to die, Gus."
"Very funny. Are you going to help me or not?"
"Fine," Shawn sighed heavily, peering into the closet again.
He studied the assortment of jackets critically for a long moment.
"I dunno…" he mumbled finally. "The blue one?"
"What blue one?" Gus asked, sifting through the hangers with the confident air of someone who had done this before. "The navy? The royal?"
This was too much for Shawn.
"Oh, God, Gus." He groaned. "I don't know…the one with the stripes."
"Okay…"
Gus quickly pulled out the jacket and tossed it on his bed.
"Now what shirt?" He pressed on.
"Gus…"
"Shawn! You said you'd help. What shirt?"
"I don't know…this one."
Shawn grabbed a shirt off a hanger at random and unenthusiastically tossed it to Gus, just hoping this would all end soon.
"Shawn!" Gus snapped irritably, gently putting it back on the hanger. "I can't wear this one!"
"Why not?" Shawn demanded.
"Because it has stripes!"
"So?"
"So…" Gus huffed. "The jacket has stripes, too."
Shawn just blinked, still not understanding the problem.
"So?"
"So it's too many stripes! Everyone knows that! If the jacket has stripes, you have to go with a solid color shirt!"
Shawn stared at his best friend in a sustained, horrified silence.
"Please tell me you're joking." He pleaded.
But Gus was far from joking.
"Forget it." He growled, hanging the rejected shirt back up. "I'll figure it out myself."
"Thank God!"
Shawn sprinted for the door, grateful to finally be free of stripes and solids.
"Shawn!" Gus called, stopping him just before he left.
"What?"
Gus cleared his throat delicately, hesitating before continuing.
"…You're still doing the gas-siphoning thing, right?" He asked.
Shawn grinned.
"That I can do."
