The Scene: Garret and I are driving in to work. Discussion is centered on the new dress policy at work. Garret did some online shopping the night before and was regaling me with how expensive Joseph A Bank shirts are.

Garret: We're talking $65 a shirt!

Me: $65?

Garret: Yeah, and it doesn't come with a blowjob either.

Me: Maybe that's in the pocket.

Garret: Nope.

Me: Damn. For $65 it better stand up by itself.

Garret: And wash and press itself. And then dress you!

Me: Hey, wait a second. Your khakis cost $65. Why is it okay to spend $65 on pants but not on a shirt?

Garret: Because they're pants.

Me: Oh, that just explains everything now doesn't it?

Garret: Pants are more expensive. They cradle, protect and fondle your nads.

Me: Assuming you are wearing your business shirts tucked in, the shirt will be doing that. In fact it will be closer to your nads than the pants.

Garret: [Pauses to give me "the look".]

Me: It's true. Think of the pants as your own hand, holding her hand against your nadular bits.

Garret: [More "look".]

Me: The shirt is her hand.

Garret: Then what are my boxers in this scenario?

Me: They're the chocolate sauce.

I am no longer permitted to discuss shirts while Garret is driving.