This could be the weekend from hell. Mary has insisted that we go shopping. Clothes shopping. For me. I’d rather stick hot coals in all my orifices. Twice.
The reason for this tortuous event is that she has decided that I need appropriate clothing befitting a gentleman officiating at a wedding. Apparently my usual daily costume of jeans and t-shirt doesn’t quite make the grade. I offered to wear a clean sweatshirt over the t-shirt but that ain’t gonna fly either. So she is dragging me to wherever it is that they sell the right stuff for those of us in dire need of appropriate costuming. But I would rather prance naked through the mall than shop there.
And while I agree that I probably should have something to wear dressier than a clean pair of jeans, I think I should be allowed to do my own shopping. Just because my idea of dressing up is to wear the jeans without the stains and a shirt with buttons, I don’t feel that I need my Mommy to guide me to the men’s department. Granted, if left to my own devices, I would most likely spend an inordinant amount of time in the hardware or electronics departments of the department store and manage to avoid the suity place where they grab your crotch to measure your inseam. Yeh right. And while there may be some precedent for my needing supervision when selecting clothing, I don’t think it’s fair to hold the 70’s over my head any longer.
She claims that if I’m allowed free rein in choosing what to wear, I will most often opt for the clown suit. Granted, I did have plaid bellbottoms and shiny polyester shirts at one time, but that was in the 70’s when everyone dressed like a carnival barker or a refugee from an LSD trip. I was way cool back then.
I did own a suit at one time. I bought it to wear to my mother’s funeral over twenty years ago. I do not want to wear that suit again. Even if I could. In the ensuing 20+ years since the last wearing of that suit, let’s just say that I have expanded my personal horizons somewhat. Stuffing all of me into those pants would be grounds for a lewd and lascivious arrest. Small children would be traumatized.
So I guess I will have to bite the bullet and allow her to decide what looks good on this old man’s body. I really do clean up pretty well when properly supervised. As long as we don’t make this cleaning up nonsense a habit, I think I can stand a onetime ordeal of clothes shopping. I’ll think of it as a wedding present for my daughter. She will be expecting cash, but hey, I can only do so much.