This was hell.
This was pure, unadulterated hell.
Archie liked clothes, yes, fine. He enjoyed not being naked when he went to work. Sometimes, he even put a little thought into what he was wearing.
But this was totally uncalled for!
He sighed when Malcolm dangled a shirt in front of him. Taking it from him gingerly, he groaned. "I only did that with one shirt, Malcolm, and it was some kind of slinky material with colors I didn't even know existed on it! It was seizure-inducing!"
How had he even been dragged on this shopping trip? He liked his red shirt, his red shirt was nice, and this was stupid, and he hated shopping, and he hated trying clothes on because you had to take things off and then put things on and then take them off-- oh, this was nice feeling.
This was really nice feeling, it had some kind of silk-texture to it, and it actually fit rather ni--"NO!" he yelled. "NO, Malcolm, I, this, this is ridiculous! I have clothes! I have plenty of clothes, even, and this is a nice, a really ni-- no!"
Oh, bugger.
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