Inside mrpeenee's Closet

It unsettles me whenever I realize I retain some vestige of straight boy-ness. I adore decorating, have firm opinions about women's shoes and have no gag reflex whatsoever - gay, gay, gay. And yet, because I sprang from a world of heterosexuals (rather like being raised by wolves) I still have some trace of that culture. Specifically, I maintain a passionate hatred of clothes shopping that would rival that of the most committed breeder boy. The entire process irks me and is why I have a wardrobe that can only be described as skeletal; it looks like an Amish farmer imitating an IRS agent. I have one pair of black leather shoes to wear to work, a pair of Converse tennis shoes for all the rest of the time and a pair of nice leather shoes I wear to funerals, and you had better be a pretty good dead friend for me to break them out. I had one belt I wore every single day until R Man gave me a new one for my birthday and took the old one away. All my shirts and pants come from Costco, I was beyond delighted to find out I could buy khaki pants and a five pound tub of salted cashews in the same place. The fact that they do not allow you to try on the merchandise is fine with me. Dealing with dressing rooms is one of the aspects of clothes shopping I like least; that and dealing with salesmen. I never feel as frumpy as I do when confronted with some clerk who probably makes a great deal less money than me and yet looks like I should be parking his car for him. All this means I have plenty of room in my closet, which is good considering how much room my porn collection takes up.

That's why I'm fascinated with haz-mat bunny suits, those fabulous one piece costumes worn by workers scrubbing down Three Mile Island. I'd love to get away with having one as my daily ensemble. I always like footie jammies and these just take the concept to a higher plane.