Unfortunately, guys also like white socks with brown shoes. Big belt buckles are often another trademark of men here in the west. I’m interested in the wallets with chains attached to the big belts with the big belt buckles. What’s that all about? Seriously, do you get plowed so frequently that it’s become a problem in the past? Is the Alzheimer’s so bad that you misplace it fairly regularly in bars? I’m just making an observation, mind you. I noticed them mostly on motorcycle enthusiasts over the years and assumed they vibrate out of your pocket while riding. Now I see them everywhere.
While waiting to have a blood lab drawn this morning I happened to look across the waiting room at another man in his sixties. I’m lucky. My hair is just starting to turn grey. This old boy has had a harder life than me or saw a ghost. He’s seriously grey. What was weirder was that his hair was combed straight forward-all of it. It’ wasn’t a massive comb-over to cover a receding hairline. It was a massive comb-forward with something like Dippidy-doo goo to approximate a new frontal boundary. The effect was like a frozen, artificial widow’s peak iceberg, but more disorderly. Nothing was going to hide the fact that the hair had lost and was retreating. A sudden gust of wind would treat him the same way it does Donald Trump. I hate that when that happens.
Fortunately, I have a minder. I’m sure you’ve heard of these. If you ever manage to get into North Korea for a little downtime, you will get to meet one. When you leave your State-assigned hotel, you are accompanied by a free “government-assigned tour guide”. They help you find all the good photo shots and steer you away from embarrassing ones. In my case, it’s a spouse with good taste. I think she’s embarrassed to identify with me or that friends in town will call her and ask if she knows I’m out and about unchaperoned.
In the old days BH (before hep), I was allowed to leave home to go frame houses in just about anything. Steel-toed boots don’t come in accessory colors. Blue jeans could be color-coordinated in paint and ABS glue with the sweatshirt du jour. T-shits were chosen for their messages. I found a magazine with all kinds of neat ones and ordered several without clearing them with Chipmunk. The best one (“If it has tits or tires, you’re gonna have trouble with it”) disappeared mysteriously after the first trip to the laundry room. I’ve never seen it again. The same gradually happened with others over the years.
Now, in AH (after hep) life, I find my significant other lurking in the hallway around the garage door when I leave. Occasionally she has had to step in my path and give me that oh-so-painful looking pout. That’s followed by the usual “Honey, would you at least go look at your hair in the mirror? You just can’t leave here looking like that. Where did you find that hideous sweater? I thought I threw that out.” (She did).
So the new Nod has recently been born. I now actually look at my blue jeans to make sure they aren’t “work” jeans. They can’t have any questionable (visible) spots on them. If the blue jeans are brand new, then all the tags actually have to be removed before wear. The socks have to match the shoes. Why? I have no idea. It’s just one of the rules. No one looks at your socks. If they do, then they’re weirdos and perverted.
White tennis shoes are fine with white socks. I know this now. Cupcake just blows the ass gasket when the white tennis shoes aren’t completely white. I’m going to have to get some hi-gloss enamel and keep it in the garage to solve this one. Tennis shoes don’t get comfortable until they lose their luster. Men know this. They also know they don’t need ten pairs in exciting pastel colors. Quite recently I learned that you cannot accessorize shoes with duct tape. I thought it showed you were a rebel and proudly announced your independence. I stand corrected.
The sleeveless sweaters have all migrated to Goodwill when I wasn’t looking. My old, faded Lacoste polo shirts with the slightly worn collars? Gone with the wind. In their place are new black, white and
electric guacamole celery green ones that seem to accessorize with her wardrobe-not mine. Why does my shirt have to match her purse? I can find nothing on the internet to support that hypothesis.
I don’t do blue. Blue was the color of my dress Air Force uniforms. It is a chapter of history that is closed. Why, then, do I find all manner of blue in the walk-in closet at my end now? I actually can’t remember when the last time I went out and bought clothes. Perhaps they reproduce by themselves? Well, come on. We have same sex marriage now and they even manage to have kids somehow. Anything’s possible.
I guess I shouldn’t complain. Now my daughter says things like “Whoa! Stylin’, daddy-o.” I’m convinced my wife paid her to say it. I notice complete strangers or “store associates” at Home Depot don’t come up and say things like that. Perhaps they’re impressed, but are keeping their thoughts to themselves. I’d like to think they are full of envy because they don’t have my wife’s good taste in clothing. As for the hair? We’re still negotiating on that. With the way things are going, I’ll wake up some morning and discover it’s accessorized itself. That would solve so many problems.