You know that caricature we've all have seen of the elderly gentleman who thinks he's well dressed and is otherwise totally unconcerned that anyone else might think differently. He wears his shorts cinched under his pot belly with an oversized belt, his polo shirt is so tight he looks like he is stuffed into a sausage casing, the shirt a size too small so that a sliver of that pot belly is poking out as if looking for a glimmer of light and a breath of fresh air. The clincher that he is clueless about his clothes is, of course, the ultimate anti-fashion statement: wearing those shorts with black socks and dressy brogues.
Well, I hate to admit this, but this afternoon I came close to being that old guy who dressed badly and didn't care. After watching the Badgers play some lousy football, I decided that since it was so nice outside, I would clean the deck with my power washer. I was wearing jeans and black socks and shoes, so I looked like I knew how to dress myself. But then I decided that getting my good jeans wet was not good, so I shed the jeans and grabbed a pair of shorts to wear instead. I figured that if I was worried about my jeans getting wet I should be more concerned about my shoes getting soaked as well. So I took the good shoes off and slipped on my well worn brown schechers. I looked like that old guy we were making fun of but without the pot belly.
I knew I looked bad because when I saw some neighbors out for a walk, I quickly ducked inside to avoid having them see in such a state. After they passed by I got real busy and finished the job quickly to avoid another accidental sighting by another neighbor. There I was, black socks, brown shoes, old shorts and Mary didn't even make a comment about how I looked, let alone laugh at me.