I Buy My Clothes at the Liquor Store

It's true. I buy my clothes at the crappy liquor store behind the shuttered discount bread outlet, just down the sidewalk from Sunny's Saloon, a noteworthy bikini bar. There's a high school up the street and a Carl's Jr. just across the parking lot. In the afternoon it's a great spot to watch the collection of zaftig teenage latinas, stuffed into their skintight stretch outfits like so much chorizo, as they meticulously apply mounds of eye make-up in the shade of the bus stop. Sure beats the pants off going to a mall, which is where they are undoubtedly heading.

I don't buy all my clothes at the liquor store. Only my shorts, men's mesh basketball and plaid surfer varieties that come just below my knees, which is how I like it. The shorts are displayed on a low rail that runs the the length of the ten-foot wall of bulletproof glass that separates the family of Korean owners from the rest of the world. These shorts aren't incredibly baggy kind or even stylish, but for $7.99 I'm not complaining; the elastic waist ensure a fit for even a fat slob like me. The size selection is hit and miss, as is the accuracy of the sizes themselves. I own an XL, XXL, and XXL of the exact same style of short, and there is very little difference between them--in fact, the XXL and XXXL appear to be exactly the same. (Note to Chinese clothing manufacturers: Putting more X's on the label does not magically make the shorts larger. You actually have to use more fabric.)

After buying a pair on whim, I tried to find them on the web, thinking I could order a gross from Amazon and be set for life. No dice.

And I'm kind of happy it turned out that way. Now, when I stop at the liquor store every morning for my 24-ounce Monster Khaos, I'm filled with the same kind of giddy anticipation I experienced as a kid on Christmas morning. What will be waiting for me on that rack of cheap Chinese wonders? And will it fit?