As Patrick walked by this afternoon I went all Zac Posen and noticed that something seemed to be slightly off with his tailoring.
Were his chevrons misaligned? Was it the ruching? Perhaps the draping around the hips... ?
Oh! There it is.
His Target sweatpants are at least ten inches too short for him. Subtle, I know, but I have an eye for details. Which is to say, I have no eye whatsoever and either he grew a meter overnight like tomacco or he's been a walking Huck Finn impersonator for weeks without my noticing.
Either way, it explains why his rather modest wardrobe is constantly spilling out from drawers that he cannot close... they must be full of ladybug onesies and footie pajamas... and I suggested he figure out what no longer fits him to put aside for Edward to inherit. Then, since the look on his face did not convey an eager willingness to tackle this exciting project, I helped him get started by flinging every article of clothing out of his dresser and onto his bedroom floor.
Five minutes later I heard Patrick recruit Edward to come assist him and ten minutes after that I heard Edward giggling. This boded well for fraternity but less well for any hope that the two of them might actually just do what I had asked.
Eventually Edward came to fetch me.
"So?" I asked as I followed him up the stairs. "Did you guys sort Patrick's clothes?"
"We organized them," Edward answered, ambiguously.