It's a fact of life. Men just don't care about clothing the way women do. Men dress for comfort. Take me for example; my old grey sweat pants and green oversized tee shirt are softer than a baby's bottom. Well, softer than my bottom, anyway. Of course, I try not to dress like a slob when I'm out of the house, but aside from putting on clean underwear, where does a guy cross the line into vanity for vanity's sake?
Women, on the other hand, dress to be in style. One afternoon at the mall, my wife came out of the dressing room with a new party dress she'd been dying to try on. "Well, what do you think, dear?" she asked, twirling around girlishly.
"That's the most hideous thing I've ever seen!" I told her.
"But that's the style," she replied, posing in the mirror. "Everybody's wearing it these days."
"Since when is ugly in style?" I said. "Now give it back to the creature it came from and let's go get some practical clothes at The Bargain Hut."
"You're one to talk about hideous," she snarled. "Just look at you; holes in your sweats, stains on your tee shirt, and you never tuck it in. It hangs over your gut like a big green awning! I can't take you anywhere without apologizing for you, or telling people you just got back from a fishing trip and didn't have time to change." Then she wound up for the final pitch. "That's it!" she said determinedly. "We need to get you some decent clothes. You could look really nice if you wore something halfway dressy, even just a shirt with a collar. Maybe something like that guy on the cover of GQ, he looks really classy! You know, real clean looking, not too casual, but not overstated. What do you think, dear?"
"What's GQ?"
Well, she finally dragged me into Nordstroms, and I must admit I actually did enjoy looking at all the new clothing and the fancy displays. "These jeans look nice," I said, holding up a new pair of blues.
"Those are women's jeans, dear."
"I knew that," I said smoothly. "I didn't say I wanted them, I just said they looked nice."
She then showed me to the men's department, and quickly loaded my arms full of dressy clothes to try on. After I had a good look at myself in the mirror, I returned to her with my selection. "I like these ones."
"What?!" she cried. "Out of four pairs of dress slacks and three knit shirts, and all the accessories, all you want is the socks?"
"I like them," I replied confidently. "They have little fishes on them."
"Those are paisley, you goof. You know, like on my nice white blouse I wear to church."
"Oh," I stood corrected, "I've never heard it called a paisley fish." Then I glanced at the price tag. "Eight ninety-five?!" I yelped, tossing them back at her. "For one pair? Honey, let's just go back to The Bargain Hut. I can get a whole twelve-pack of socks for that price."
"Brother," my wife sighed, rolling her eyes. "This is going to be harder than I thought. I'm just going to have to go out and buy you some nice clothes myself."
"Well, okay," I conceded. "Hey honey, see if The Bargain Hut has any of those 'paistie' fish, will you?"
Several days later, I came home from work and my wife led me into the bedroom, acting unusually excited. "Just wait 'til you see what I've got for you!" she said.
"Oh boy!" I exclaimed. "I can't wait! We haven't done this since... hey, we better move all these clothes off the bed, don't you think?" Then I slowly began to recognize the clothes as the kind I had tried on at Nordstroms, and I put two and two together. "Hey, wait just a minute here," I said firmly. "Have you been seeing that guy from GQ? I saw that magazine, I know how you liked his clothes..."
"No, silly," she replied. "I bought these for you. Go ahead, try them on. I want to see how handsome you look."
It wasn't very often that the word "handsome" was uttered in the bedroom, so I took advantage of the mood and modelled the clothes for her. "Oh, I love it!" she remarked of a navy blue pleated pair of slacks, and a striped polo style shirt. "They're gorgeous!" my wife exclaimed. "They make you look so classy."
"You really think so? I don't know," I said, turning in the mirror. "They're alright, I guess. But they're not really me."
"I know! Aren't they great?"
"Well," I said finally, eyeing myself in a pair of khaki dress shorts, "I appreciate you trying, but I just don't think any of these clothes are for me. They're fine for that GQ guy, but I really like my sweats and big green tee shirt. Tell you what, honey, I'll return all these and go out and get myself some dress clothes that I like. And I promise I'll get something stylish."
So, several evenings later I found the time to go shopping, and after much deliberation I returned home with, I dare say, the "perfect" ensemble. I rushed to the bedroom to change, excited that I finally had some clothes that were not only stylish, but were really me. "Honey?" I called.
"Honey, come in here. Come and see what I got! See... real clean looking, not too casual, but not overstated. What do you think?"
Rarely is my wife speechless, but this was one occasion where she was clearly so impressed all she could do was gawk.
"I looked around at all those fancy stores," I explained, "but I really didn't find anything that fit too well, or that I liked. Then I went back to the Bargain Hut, and 'viola'! Best pair of dress slacks I've ever owned! Perfect fit, and they're really comfortable. And you've got to admit, they're stylish!"
Gradually, my wife's mouth began to move, and soon after that words came out. "They're... they're..."
"Classy?" I helped her along. "Handsome? Chic?"
"They're ORANGE!" The way she retched the word out almost made it sound like a bad thing. "They're bright orange!"
"I know! Aren't they great? See, they even have this blue denim trim around the top that gives them a little more flair. I'd have never found anything like this at Nordstroms."
"No kidding."
"And look at this," I said enthusiastically, "they go with almost every shirt I own! Even my green tee shirt. I can wear them with everything!"
"Please, heavens no!"
"Who'd have thunk it?" I said. "For years my best clothes were jeans and tee shirts, and now, thanks to you honey, I own a pair of classy orange dress slacks."
"Don't you dare thank me," she replied. "Those are the most hideous things I've ever seen. The words 'orange' and 'dress slacks' shouldn't even be allowed in the same sentence. I'm sorry dear, but the only place for orange clothing is on hunters and road construction workers!"
"Well," I sighed, "at least I won't get shot or run over in them."
"Don't bet on it."
"Well, I don't care what you think. I like them, even if they don't have pasties on them. I'm gonna to wear them to work tomorrow, and then you'll see some heads turn!"
"I don't doubt that for a minute."
"You know," I said, "these pants look so good on me, I wish now that I had more orange clothes. I'll have to go back to the Bargain Hut and see what I can dig up. I should probably have these washed once before I wear them, though. Maybe I'll throw them in the machine tonight, I have some other shirts and stuff that need washing anyway."
The next day at the office I stirred up quite a reaction. I guess it's not often they get such a dose of high fashion at an engineering firm. "What are you dressed up for, Halloween?" my boss remarked. "I've never seen that color of pants... and shirt... and socks."
"Hey, that's not the half of it," I replied. "I've even got orange underwear! And boy, my wife will sure be surprised when she finds her orange table cloth and orange bra! Of course no one will see the orange bra underneath her orange paistie church blouse..."