As I was minding my own business and calmly dressing for work Monday, my wife unexpectedly disrupted my task.
“You can’t wear that today,” she said as I pulled on a polo shirt that I had just worn less than a week ago. “And those slacks are all wrong.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.
“That’s a summer shirt and those are summer slacks,” she said. “It’s too late in the year for summer clothes. You need to get out you long-sleeve pullover shirts and your corduroy and warmer pants. If you wear those summer clothes today you will be so out of style.”
“Yeah, like I give a flip about fashion,” I replied. “Look, both these pants and this shirt fit and they cover all the parts of my body that need to be covered. That’s about all I look for in clothes. As long as it is not some loud, outlandish color and does not look like something from the 1800s, if it fits, I will wear it.”
“But you don’t want to wear July clothes in September, do you?” she asked.
“Who cares?” I asked with a shrug.
“I care,” she replied.
“Fine, you win,” I said. “I surrender.”
I then dove into the back of my closet and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt.
“Will this do?” I asked
“Well, that will do for today, but you need to replace the summer clothes in your closet with clothes more fitting for fall and winter,” said the only woman I know who has the slightest interest in how I dress.
Of course, transforming my closet to fit the season is something I have been doing all of my adult life, but I have never enjoyed it. I usually hate trying on my clothes from last winter out of fear that they will no longer fit, but I really did not worry about that this fall. My weight has changed little since last winter. I still weigh more than what I should but I am no fatter — or any thinner — today than what I was in January. I knew last winter’s clothes would still fit.
But there is a new challenge in making the switch to winter clothes this fall. My daughter and two granddaughters have moved in with us and, as a result, their clothes now are in the closet where I used to store my clothes when they were not in season. Thus, I am not even sure where my winter clothes are.
Not to worry though. My wife is about 20 times better organized than I am, and I am confident she knows exactly where my winter clothes are. Thus, when the time comes — which I am sure will be in the next few days — she will direct me to those clothes and suggest that they trade places with the summer clothes currently hanging in my closet. All this will take about a half hour and a bit of heavy lifting. After that, I will be wasted for the rest of the day unable to do anything more strenuous than picking up the remote for the TV.
But there is another problem I have with my wardrobe when changing seasons, and it is already happening. My jackets never go from winter storage to my closet without spending a few days in my office.
Here’s how: I wore a jacket to work Monday because is was a bit nippy outside when I left home. However, by the time I drove home, summer weather had returned and the jacket was not necessary. So it spent the night hanging behind the door to my office. Another jacket left from another day was already behind the office door.
It was again cool on Tuesday and I grabbed another jacket to wear to work. As I write this, it is Tuesday afternoon, and I know that if I did not take the three jackets now behind my office door home last night, I was probably more than a little cold when I took my dog and best friend Prissy for a walk this morning. That’s because all the light jackets suitable for cool fall mornings were in my office.
Having agreed to make the seasonal shift in fashion, I thought my wife and I would no longer need to discuss my clothes until spring. But I was wrong.
“John, you can’t wear those socks,” she gasped.
“Why not?’ I asked.
“Because they have holes in them,” she said.
“But not where anyone can see them,” I explained.
To be sure, I was wearing socks that Prissy had chewed on, helping herself to the toes. But when I had my shoes on, no one could tell that my toes were bare.
“Look, as long as I am not in an accident, no one will ever know that I am wearing socks with holes in the toes,” I explained. “And we all know from our mothers that if you are in an accident, it is the condition of your underwear you have to worry about. Doctor and nurses who work in emergency rooms don’t care what your socks look like.”
I wore the less-than-perfect socks Monday and no one could tell, but I suspect it is the last time I will wear those socks. My wife will see to it that the next time they are in the laundry, they will magically disappear.
But this is not the only pair of socks Prissy has damaged, and I fully plan to keep wearing socks with holes in them. So if you see me, you will never know for certain whether my sock have holes on them or not, and I’m not telling. I’ll just keep you guessing.
JOHN CANNON can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or at (606) 326-2649.