Today I finally found my guitar strap and slapped it on my guitar. The holes aren't worn it yet so they're still extremely tight, and make a loud noise when the leather rubs against the strap holders. Whenever I move it about my shoulder, it sounds like someone's skin rubbing against a leather sofa. Like on a hot summer today, when you sit down shirtless on your parents' white leather couch, and then your sweaty back sticks to it and you feel disgusting afterwards. This was something I considered doing after mowing the lawn today, but instead I settled for my bed, which is warmer, and less sticky.
One time at school I sat on a piece of gum in the hallway by my locker. I didn't realize this until getting off a different white fabric sofa after about two hours of Cops and Jerry Springer, and turning around to see a dark green smear where my butt had been. Still confused, I grabbed for my ass to feel the remains of the thick, sticky substance. Someone had chewed on this, spat it out, probably stepped on it, and now it had been evenly divided between the floor, couch, and my posterior. I spend the next hour with an old tooth brush and a bar of soap trying to get the stain off of my pants. Then I walked back to the living room, and flipped the cushion.
This was very similar to the time my mom had jabbed me with her nail polish applier while yelling at me to get out of the bathroom after an arguement. Being the elusive culprit that I am, I managed to swerve out of the way, only sustaining a minor smear of bright pink nail polish across the sleeve of my Guns N' Roses t-shirt. As hard as it was convincing her to help while she was still angry, I managed to get directions to where the nail polish remover was located, and made my way down to the laundry room. And once again, I spent an hour with a tooth brush, scrubbing away at my stained and sabotaged shirt.