Jon lay motionless in his bed, only the gentle rise and fall of his now-generous chest giving any indication he was alive. But, inside of his head, wheels were turning.
With Sarah out of the room, he had a chance to do something. He didn't know what, but talking seemed to trigger changes. If he could say something that made sense, something about what he was wearing, or what he should be wearing, while Sarah wasn't there to interrupt him, maybe he could at least regain some dignity.
But Sarah was right. As long as he was laying in bed, it made more sense for him to be in just his underwear, rather than fully-clothed. He couldn't think of a way to say "I should be wearing clothes" that made sense in his current context.
For a moment the idea occurred to him that he could at least try to get some pajamas. If he was in bed, pajamas would make sense. But before the words could leave his lips, he stopped himself: sure, he owned a few pajama tops, but he couldn't remember ever wearing any pajama bottoms. And he was sure that whatever his wardrobe decided was an appropriate top for him now would be a garment that Sarah would find even more glee in teasing him about. And, despite himself, he somehow knew he'd feel less confident with his bra covered up. No, that wasn't a solution. It was better to remain as he was.
Jon tried to visualize what an ideal outfit would even be for him now. He conjured a mental image of himself, and tried to dress it. He ended up in a white, spaghetti-strap tank top, and a pair of gym shorts. It seemed to him less than ideal for such a sheer top to be worn over such a strong-colored bra, and even in his mental image Jon could clearly see the undergarment through the shirt. But what else even went with gym shorts? It didn't occur to Jon that other types of shorts or pants might be options.
No, this didn't make sense at all. How was it that even Jon's conception of a full outfit for himself was limited to just a single tank top, flannel boxers clearly visible extending out from underneath the white hem? What was the point of an "outfit" that exposed both boxers and bra? Underwear was meant to be covered, but how could he cover his boxers?
It was as Jon was making this contemplation that Sarah returned, triumphant smile plastered across her face.
"Sarah!" Jon let his pent-up frustration out. "Whatever you did, fix it!"
Triumph turned to sly as Sarah slinked over to the bed. "And what is it, exactly, that you think I did?"
Jon just glared.
"Hah! You don't even know, do you? I bet you don't even remember the last time you wore any pants."
Jon blinked. Was that it? Was that why he couldn't picture himself fully dressed? Could he remember the last time he wore pants? He certainly remembered seeing other people wearing pants.
"What were you doing," Sarah pressed, "the last time you wore pants?"
"I--" Jon couldn't think of an answer.
Sarah just laughed.
"It's not funny! How am I supposed to go out in public without pants?"
Jon was not aware that he had just sealed his own fate. "Well, I'm out in public," Sarah gave an overly-dramatic curtsey, "and I'm not wearing pants."
"That's because you're wearing a skirt," Jon spat.
Jon wouldn't have had a good angle to see his closet, in any case, but with his attention focused on Sarah there wasn't even a chance for him to notice the new garment that had appeared inside of it, triggered by his own utterance. But Sarah, out of the corner of her eye, saw it.
"So what you're saying is, if someone doesn't have any pants," another skirt appeared in the closet, "and they want to go out in public," a third one, "then they must have skirts." And then a fourth.
"But I can't have skirts," Jon replied unaware that he already owned four.
"Why not?" Sarah could smell blood in the water.
"Because skirts are for girls!"
But Jon's voice had cracked on the final word of his declaration, and he could feel inside of him that something was not right.
