Just a second, fellas! God, where is it? Make yourselves useful and start looking.
Rick, stop telling me to wear something else. Would you listen to yourself? If I’m not in a tank top, what else am I supposed to wear to break an ancient curse? The faster you look, the faster we can save our families from perishing painfully in this impending doom.
It’s a white tank top, a little ripped at the bottom, it’s ribbed, it—come on! You know what it looks like. It’s the same tank top I wear every time we get together to defeat an age-old evil or combat a monstrous hellion or send a primeval alien packing. It’s the tank top!
Gavin, that’s a black tank top. No, I can’t wear a black one—no one will be able to tell when it’s wet!
Boys, listen to me. Somehow, every time we’ve found ourselves in a dangerous, life-altering confrontation with a horrifying creature of the unknown, I have been wearing this tank top. It’s almost by design! And every time I’ve worn this tank top, we’ve won. Do you know how Jack won’t watch a Steelers game without his disgusting jersey? Or how Clark wears his bright pink socks for good luck when he’s golfing with his father-in-law?
My tank top is your pink socks. It’s your unwashed, heinous jersey. And it’s our collective sure thing that we’re going to survive breaking this curse. Now, go check my dresser. No, not that one, the beige one from Ikea.
God, I’m starting to get worried. What if I lost it? That was my only ass-kicking tank top. I'll be so upset! That tank was there for me when we killed that giant serpent that arose from sewers. It was there for me when we performed that all-night ritual to banish the hag witch from Foxwyn’s forest. Plus, it was the best tank for layering under any graphic tee.
If I can’t find this tank top, I think I’m going to have to skip out on this one, boys. I’m sorry! I can’t risk it. I don’t know what it’s like to belay into a pitch-black cave with sleeves on or stab a screaming, drooling zombie through the eye in a lil zip-up hoodie. I’ll be totally off my game!
Okay. I think the only other option we have here is for one of you to die, for me to sob over your body, confess my love for you in your dead ear, and wear your leather jacket every day instead of going to therapy. Who wants to—
Clark, that’s it! You found it! Wow, and it’s right next to my special demon-killing jeans! Thank God you’re all here, this is going to be a group effort.
I’ll just get my legs in here, and now everybody grab a belt loop and…HEAVE!
Okay, mid-calf. Good progress, try again. No, I assure you. They fit!
HEAVE!!
We’re almost there! As soon as we get these pants on, boys, we’ll head straight to the fiery sinkhole that’s engulfing the Town Hall.
HEAVE!!!
Phew. Okay, fellas, which one of you is good with a needle? Somebody’s gonna have to sew me in. And cuff the bottoms for me, would ya? Mama’s feeling cute.
Alright, we’re almost set! I’ve got my black bra with the one strap that never stays up, my thread-bare white tank top, my jeans that one of you is going to have to cut me out of – I’m all set! I’m ready to start breaking this curse as soon as I grab my shoes.
Clark, you jag. I’m not wearing heels. What year do you think it is, 1999? I’m going to wear my Steve Madden wedge sneakers, like always. They give me the extra boost I need to grab ancient relics from high-up ledges to throw into the mouth of a thousand-year-old leviathan, and they make my butt look amazing.
No no, it has to be the wedge sneakers.
Guys.
Where are my wedge sneakers?