Adore him though I do, The Roommate's boyfriend is one of those impossibly straight guys. Not cocky or dreadfully homophobic. Just...how do I put this delicately? Kind of...dough-headed. If left to his own devices he'd probably wear white athletic socks with black shoes and adjust his jibblies in public. It's good he has a girlfriend and gay roommate to look after him.

The other day I was sitting at the computer, not blogging, while he was ironing his clothes for a job interview he had that afternoon. From across the room, I noticed something. I rolled my eyes and let out an exhaustive sigh.

"Give me your pants."

He turned to look at me with caution. "Why?" he said suspiciously.

"The ones you are ironing, not the ones you are wearing. Gah. Just hand them over."

Reluctantly he gave me his black slacks. I pointed at the back of the waist band. "Do you see these white strings?" He nodded. "They aren't suppose to be there. They only hold the tag for the sizing info and price while in the store. Once you buy them, you are supposed to take them off."

"How? They are stitched on."

I went to the hallway cabinets and pulled out a tin filled with sewing-type trinkets. I found what I was looking for.

"You have a tool for this?"

"Yes. It's called a seam ripper. It's a part of the gay tool belt they give you when you come out," I said dryly. "It's next to the bottles of lube and poppers."

"Poppers?"

Too much information might overwhelm the poor lad. "Never mind." I carefully extracted the white threads from his black pants. After inspecting that all thread were removed, I handed them back. "There you go."

"Wow! Thanks," he said examining his slacks.

"Now, what socks are you wearing to your interview?"

*For Crash