"I dress myself."
-Ralph Wiggum (Simpsons)
-Ralph Wiggum (Simpsons)
Sadly, there are many men who are never able to say this phrase themselves, but I can count myself among the few who do not need any assistance (yet). In fact, I am quite proud of my more dressy wardrobe in particular. The variety of sport coats and light colored suits would be the envy of many an old man. On a few occasions I have seen elderly gentlemen wearing similar items of clothing at the same time as myself, and we can't help but acknowledge the impeccable taste of one another.
This favorable disposition I have towards the proverbial "Sunday Clothes" section of clothing stores goes against an innate instinct within me: I hate clothes shopping. Loathe. Despise. Avoid at almost any cost. I just barely bought my first new pair of jeans in 4 1/2 years. The only reason it happened is because one of my existing pair starting getting holes. About 4 (Even I have to draw the line somewhere).
This natural inclination to avoid clothes shopping has been doing battle with my interest in classy suits and the like. Sabotage is good word for what's going on. A few weeks ago I was looking at a nice silver sport coat. After trying it on a few times, taking it off the rack and putting it back several times (a normal occurrence with anything that involves me spending money), I decided to buy the coat. In most cases when I finally decide to buy something I have to grab it quickly and go right to the check-out, otherwise I'll talk myself out of the purchase. So, I snatched the coat and briskly walked (a slow run, really) to the front. Imagine my disappointment the following Sunday when I put on my shiny new coat before heading to church, only to find that in my haste to buy the thing I had grabbed the wrong one. By the time I made it back to the store they didn't have my size anymore. Lovely. I'm sure my inner clothes-shopping-hating self got a a good laugh.
The sabotage continued yesterday. I was at the store to buy a new suit to wear to my sister's wedding (Yes, she's getting married. Yes, she's younger than me. No, it doesn't bother me that she's getting married before me [but shut-up about that anyway, your jokes aren't funny]. That covers the usual questions...). The suit coat seemed to fit okay, but it was early (10 AM can still be considered early some days), so I wasn't paying close attention to anything besides the coat size marked on its hanger. I drive home, happy to tell my sister (and, by extension, my mother) that there's no need to stress and worry that I'll be wearing my brown, 3 piece polyester suit to the wedding (even though I want to). Walking through the house to show off my newly purchased bit of class, I take a look at the actual size of the suit coat...
In the space of .05 seconds every swear word in every language I know ran through my mind (don't worry, I always drop off the last letter of swears. That makes it okay, right? Right?!?). Dang you, inner-hatred-of-clothes-shopping, do you realize what you've done?! I face enough violence from female sources, the last thing I need is bridal wrath raining down upon my head! Promptly returning to the store, I end up jacking the suit coat off of the department display case. Desperate times, people, desperate times.
After explaining the fiasco to my mother, she merely shakes her head and tells me I need a "keeper" to keep me in line. So, after much thought and consideration, it's time to start accepting applications for that position. Requirements are few, you must be able to read clothing sizes and relay said information; survive a large amount of sarcasm; like ice cream; be able to lift 50 pounds (I don't know what you'd be lifting, but a lot of jobs require this, so it seems like a good idea to include it here). Please, if your application is denied don't take it personally. I'm only rejecting you because of who you are, what you think, and what you believe (Typical good business practice, no?).
Personally, I'd prefer a helper monkey, however it would be about as good at reading labels as I am. But, man oh man, we'd have a fun time, that's for sure!
This favorable disposition I have towards the proverbial "Sunday Clothes" section of clothing stores goes against an innate instinct within me: I hate clothes shopping. Loathe. Despise. Avoid at almost any cost. I just barely bought my first new pair of jeans in 4 1/2 years. The only reason it happened is because one of my existing pair starting getting holes. About 4 (Even I have to draw the line somewhere).
This natural inclination to avoid clothes shopping has been doing battle with my interest in classy suits and the like. Sabotage is good word for what's going on. A few weeks ago I was looking at a nice silver sport coat. After trying it on a few times, taking it off the rack and putting it back several times (a normal occurrence with anything that involves me spending money), I decided to buy the coat. In most cases when I finally decide to buy something I have to grab it quickly and go right to the check-out, otherwise I'll talk myself out of the purchase. So, I snatched the coat and briskly walked (a slow run, really) to the front. Imagine my disappointment the following Sunday when I put on my shiny new coat before heading to church, only to find that in my haste to buy the thing I had grabbed the wrong one. By the time I made it back to the store they didn't have my size anymore. Lovely. I'm sure my inner clothes-shopping-hating self got a a good laugh.
The sabotage continued yesterday. I was at the store to buy a new suit to wear to my sister's wedding (Yes, she's getting married. Yes, she's younger than me. No, it doesn't bother me that she's getting married before me [but shut-up about that anyway, your jokes aren't funny]. That covers the usual questions...). The suit coat seemed to fit okay, but it was early (10 AM can still be considered early some days), so I wasn't paying close attention to anything besides the coat size marked on its hanger. I drive home, happy to tell my sister (and, by extension, my mother) that there's no need to stress and worry that I'll be wearing my brown, 3 piece polyester suit to the wedding (even though I want to). Walking through the house to show off my newly purchased bit of class, I take a look at the actual size of the suit coat...
In the space of .05 seconds every swear word in every language I know ran through my mind (don't worry, I always drop off the last letter of swears. That makes it okay, right? Right?!?). Dang you, inner-hatred-of-clothes-shopping, do you realize what you've done?! I face enough violence from female sources, the last thing I need is bridal wrath raining down upon my head! Promptly returning to the store, I end up jacking the suit coat off of the department display case. Desperate times, people, desperate times.
After explaining the fiasco to my mother, she merely shakes her head and tells me I need a "keeper" to keep me in line. So, after much thought and consideration, it's time to start accepting applications for that position. Requirements are few, you must be able to read clothing sizes and relay said information; survive a large amount of sarcasm; like ice cream; be able to lift 50 pounds (I don't know what you'd be lifting, but a lot of jobs require this, so it seems like a good idea to include it here). Please, if your application is denied don't take it personally. I'm only rejecting you because of who you are, what you think, and what you believe (Typical good business practice, no?).
Personally, I'd prefer a helper monkey, however it would be about as good at reading labels as I am. But, man oh man, we'd have a fun time, that's for sure!
Kellan, you make me laugh. I'll keep an eye out for a 'keeper' for you that is about as much fun as a monkey, but better looking too.
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