We were considering some spring clothes and realized every time we try to buy new gear, we’re really just shooting to turn back the clock, to shave off a few years without losing the emotional maturity: we want to look younger, cooler, and a little more carefree. But us adults fuck it up with big kid problems.
We’re either trying to desperately repress our childhood, so that when Nancy from work offers to have a cat-free night out, we don’t know how to dress for the situation:
What’s worse, and what we think we suffer from here at Douchebag Danceoff, is the piss-in-the-wind struggle of not being able to put our youth to sleep. We’re rewriting our life so that it sounds more exciting and we had more friends than we actually did. But youth is reserved for the young and every time we try to dress up for as something we think will recapture our childhood, we wind up looking like unappreciated child molesters.