TITLE: A Fashion Oddessy
E-MAIL ADDRESS: fusion@cybercomm.net
DISTRIBUTION: Badfic archive if you want. 
SUMMARY: Giles goes to the dry-cleaners...
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything but this story. The characters belong to
Joss Whedon.

        It was a crisp December morning. The wind was blowing chills down
the spine of Rupert Giles as he slept in his bed. This'll teach me not to
sleep with the window open, he said to himself. Rupert got out of bed and
immediately marched over to his dressor drawr. He kneeled down on the soft
carpet and began rummaging through his clothes.
        "Hmm", Giles said as his sifted through the drawr. "Tweed. More
tweed. I must have forgotten to pick my leather up from the dry-cleaners".
And so Giles dressed himself in a tweed jacket and a dressy shirt, and went
outside. Halfway out the door, he forgot about his pants. He went inside and
put them on and then came back out. But then he forgot about his shoes and
had to go back to get those, too.

        After about fifteen minutes of walking, Giles had reached the
dry-cleaners. It was a small, quaint little shop on the edge of Sunnydale.
He'd been going there ever since he moved there and was very happy
with their service.
        "Hello", a woman said from behind the counter. She immediately came around to be greated by a warm smile. "Are you here to pick something up?"
        "Yes", Giles stated. He had never seen this woman before, and was
quite nervous about asking her for his dry-cleaning. "Uhm, yes. I, uhm, am
I suppose."
        "What can I get for you?", the woman asked.
        "I, uhm, dropped off some, uhm, clothing. Yes. I'd like to pick them
        "Okay. Can you tell me what it is?"
        "They're, uhm, pants. An uhm, er, sleeve-less jacket." Giles stated.
He was too embarresed to tell her that he was picking up tight leather
pants and a sleeve-less, torn, leather jacket.
        "Can I have your name please, Sir?"
        "Name? You want my name?", Giles asked. How can I tell her my name?
She'll look at my name and see leather pants, Giles thought.
        "Yes, Sir. Can I have your name?"
        "Yes. Uhm, Rupert Giles." he stated. He finally decided to
swallow his pride and get his order. After all, he needed his pants. His
date with Jenny Calendar was tonight.
        "Alright. One minute." The lady went in the back and came out with
Giles' order. "Here you go".
        "Uhm, thank you" Giles said as he signed his bill. As he was leaving
with his clothing, the woman at the desk started talking to him.
        "Mr. Giles?"
        "Yes?" Giles said, turning around.
        "You're much more of a sexy God in tweed."

        THE END

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