Oct 23, 2017 3 min read

While I don’t want to go around naked, I’m getting pretty tired of clothes. There are a lot of little things that have been irritating about getting up and getting dressed in the morning.

I don’t really pay attention to clothes. As long as I leave the house looking like a human being, I’m happy. I won’t walk around in garish clown clothes, but I don’t really have a style. If I did have a style it’s probably called “Everyday Guy in the Street – Extra-Large Version.”

I wear a lot of slacks and polo shirts. Occasionally, I will get fancy. Suddenly, I’m Suit and Tie Ken.

I don’t know much about fashion, but I have noticed that fewer men are wearing ties, and that, as Martha Stewart would say, is a good thing.

I’m pretty groggy when I get ready for work. For instance, what color are my pants right now? Am I wearing black or navy? I don’t know. In the closet, they looked black. In the sunshine, they look blue. I might be wearing a black shirt with blue pants. I look like a walking bruise.

I’m literally and figuratively on pins and needles when I put on a new dress shirt. I don’t know how many times I’ve been jabbed by pins and needles from a Geoffrey Beene Men’s Big and Tall Classic-Fit Wrinkle-Free Bedford Cord Solid Dress Shirt. I get the heebie-jeebies when I pick a brand new shirt perfectly wrapped and neatly folded in plastic in my dresser. It sends shivers down my spine. Probably because I’m not wearing a shirt at the time.

And yes, not only have I worn a shirt with a stray pin or needle in it, I have worn that cardboard collar protector once or twice. It held my collar up nicely. It’s just slightly embarrassing when you pull a long strip of cardboard from your neck in a board meeting.

I’ve gone out in jeans with the long sticky strip of tape that has the waist size and pant length printed on it.

I’ve worn Polo shirts inside out and T-shirts backward.

I despise those little plastic tags that hold the socks together. I’ve ruined a few pairs of new socks yanking on that thing to separate them. There never seems to be a pair of scissors handy.

Side note: When the socks are new and clipped together with plastic tags and plastic hooks, it’s usually the last time those two particular socks are together. I’ve separated a lot of twins.

Then, there are the socks my brother Brian calls “quitters.” They are the socks that no longer retain their elasticity. They bunch up around your shoes, and you walk around with cold ankles all day.

Of course, it’s far worse when the elastic band gives out in the undies. I’m sporting a half moon under my pants.

I need a valet. Someone to dress me in the morning. I guess I’m just not clothes-minded.