How to Be an Interplanetary Ambassador

One of your biggest problems being Ambassador on another planet is what to wear. I mean, the Blobs here, they got no clothes. But me, I didn’t coldcock a mother of twins at the Bloomingdale’s basement sale just to leave that satin split-to-the-crotch designer rag sitting in the closet. Not that Unpronounceable had closets when I first got here. I had to explain about wardrobe, and then they made me a place to stash it.

In any case, there I am with everybody else in their birthday suit, and me spending an hour in the morning putting my face on and then squeezing into pants that I bought to fit after I lose that five pounds of water retention I gained eating salty food two years ago. The Blobs, they could benefit from some designer jeans to make them only got muffin tops instead of muffin everywhere except maybe the soles of their feet. If they had feet. But they don’t seem to care about appearance at all.

I can’t stand it. How do you talk about shapeless? It has no shape. Not to mention that putrid pink color of theirs that nothing natural on earth could ever compete. Pink like that on purpose is offensive, so as a fashion statement would make it okay for a girl to wear if she’s trying to piss her boss off. But such pink and so much of it talking to you all day au naturel is enough to send any sane person to bed for a month. Only I gotta be ambassadorial instead of an ass, and so there I am, on my feet, which are permanent fixtures and not just some blobby approximation, looking at a closet full of clothes that are seriously uncomfortable and thinking that hey, if nobody cares… Seriously. What would you do?