When it comes to clothes, I have never been one who is into “style.” This is one of the few facts that my wife and I agree on, though adding a tired groan to her agreement is being a little melodramatic. I do admit that if it were not for Maxine taking it apon herself to purchase clothes for me from time to time, my closet would have ample room for moths to frolic and multiply. But there is something hidden in the back recesses of my brain that sets barriers on how I dress. I guess what I’m trying to say is…some senior men just dress wrong! So that brings us to Rules For Old People-Rule 2. Never dress “old.”
When it comes to how I dress, all my socks are either straight white, or straight black; white for when I wear tennis shoes, which is most of the time, and black for those rare occasions that I wear dress shoes. Multi-colored socks are not found anywhere in my drawer. My reason is it totally alleviates the problem of matching up socks. Just throw them all loose in the drawer and then simply pick out two of the same color. Black or white. Ya can’t get much simpler than that. My wife’s reason was, as she said, being humiliated at a black-tie affair when a couple of her lady friends pointed at me sitting cross-legged and mentioned to her that I was wearing two different colored socks, with a jumping bass on one, and some kind of flowers on the other. Sheesh! You would have thought I had just walked out of the bathroom at an awards banquet, with toilet paper trailing behind me, with the spotlight on me because I had just been named winner of the door prize, and my wife couldn’t be found because she was hiding under our table. But that’s another story. And while on the subject of socks. I don’t give a rip if my socks slide all the way down to my toes, I will never, ever be caught wearing sock garters, or whatever they are called. I don’t care if they are not seen, I would still have the creepy-crawling feeling that I’m “cross-dressing.”
My every-day trousers are either jeans or cargo pants. And none of those form fitting models either. Loose in the legs and baggy in the butt, that’s my motto. Besides being comfortable, at my age I don’t think there is anyone out there who cares to see “my form,” unless they are ready for sleepless nights of flashbacks and possible lingering facial tics.
Shirts are anything I happen to grab from either the closet or a drawer, a wide assortment of bass fishing related T-shirts being in the drawer. (I always get two or three of those every Christmas or birthday.) Anyway, my wife has all of my dress shirts and slacks hidden away in a closet which has a lock with a combination only she knows. She is such a drama queen! I dribble a little mustard, mayo, ketchup and relish down one dress shirt and slacks she purchased at “Don’t Ask The Price Men’s Clothier,” and she never forgot it…Well, there may have been a couple other incidences, but why clutter up a post with trivials.
Now when it comes to color coordinating, I will be the first to admit, I do not have a clue. I never have had a clue, nor have I ever said I had a clue. For that reason whenever I am going to be seen…in public…with my wife…she always dresses me. That’s right, folks. I am 68 years old and someone else is required to dress me. She lays out my clothes on the bed with the shirt at the top, slacks below them, and socks below the slacks, and yes, my dress shoes on the floor below the socks. I swear, if there were a cut-out head at the top, we would have a body laying on our bed! Why she insists that my clothes be laid out in such a fashion is beyond me. Maybe she thinks that if laid out helter-skelter I would put the clothes on the wrong parts of my body. I would walk around the bedroom like a zombie with my dress slacks over my head, my nose and beady eyes peaking out the fly, socks pulled over my hands…you get the picture. I don’t know. You women tell me. When we were first married I made a valiant yet futile attempt at dressing myself. But once Maxine walked in the room I was always met with crossed arms and a cold stare. And she would always say the same thing: “Are you going to be wearing that?” That was my cue to quietly undress and wait for the clothes she picked out. Now, just like a six-year-old, I stand in my Bass Pro Shops jumping bass underwear and wait for my chosen clothes. Humiliating, but a fact of life I have learned to live with….
Next: Wait a minute, I never did get to Old People Rules-Rule 2 in this post. Okay, it’s coming in the next, for sure.