I had a rather jarring thought today as I was preparing for my next move from this lovely three-bedroom house on the Bay to a more reasonable two-bedroom town home on the Gulf:
I probably don't have to buy clothes anymore.
According to the latest actuarial tables, I am pretty sure I have enough clothes to last me the rest of my life.
Gee, I'm not sure how I feel about this revelation.
I mean I've never been any kind of a fashion plate. I've been wearing the same style of clothing most of my life. I think we used to call it "collegiate" or "preppy." Chinos and a button-down shirt with un-socked loafers have been my default wardrobe selection for as long as I've been buying my own clothes. I have rarely deviated from this "look" (Does this style even qualify as a look?)
Maybe I am so locked into a single style because going clothes shopping has never been a pleasant experience for me. I've never been much of a browser. Teddi used to drag me to Kennedy's Department Store where she would shop for my clothes in the euphemistically named "Husky" section.
Let's face it. These were clothes for fat kids.
I can still remember the pain I felt every time I had to move up a waist size. I would cling to the previous waist size like a lifeline, stuffing myself into chinos or slacks with little regard for the muffin top look I had affected. "At least I'm still a 32 or 34 waist," I would gamely tell myself as I tried to find the thinnest shirt possible to tuck into the remaining millimeter of space between my stomach and the waistband of my seriously over-taxed pants. I became an expert "seam inspector" trying to determine if the seams on a particular pair of pants could stand up to the enormous pressures they were about to experience.
The concept of LOOSE was completely foreign to me.
I would try on several pairs of the same size item in hopes of finding the one pair which was a bigger 36 than the other 36's. I imagined some garment worker in Bangladesh, Taiwan or Rangoon thinking, "I'd better add just a little fabric here in case Joel chooses this one. After all, he's our best customer and he's a little bit large-boned."
If given the choice between a clothes shopping excursion and un-anesthetized eye surgery, I would have gladly chosen the latter every time. "Sure, Doc, just go ahead and drill into that ol' cornea. You won't hear a peep from me. After all, it's better than going to Kennedy's."
So in that sense, I guess I'm relieved to know that if I don't want to, I don't have to go clothes shopping for the next 20 or so years. I'd like to say 30 or so years but I wouldn't bet on it. More importantly, the folks at SBLI wouldn't bet on it either. The four pairs of jeans, four pairs of chinos, four pairs of dress slacks, and 10 or so dress shirts currently awaiting their move to the Woodland Shores apartment complex in Miramar Beach, Destin FL should suffice. Admittedly, the eight pairs of golf shorts and eight golf shirts will need occasional upgrading, as will the Boston sports team tee-shirts, socks, and briefs. These boys work very hard and, after a year or two of faithful service, they deserve a few kind parting words and a dignified burial, preferably not in an area where the water table can be compromised.
I do own one suit and about a dozen tasteful ties. I have worn that suit to some very happy and at least one extremely sad occasion. It has served me well and, as long as there aren't a whole bunch of bar-mitzvahs, weddings, or funerals coming up in quick succession, this one suit should do the trick.
Since moving down here two years ago, I did purchase four "tropical" shirts, including one cool maroon job from Tommy Bahama's. I guess I wanted to look like a local and I thought my classic blue oxford button down would give me away. Of course the Obama sticker on my Malibu gives me away before anybody has a chance to see me in my Tommy Bahama shirt so there goes that theory.
The removal of new clothing from my budget is a win-win for me. It makes the move on May 15 that much simpler and makes paying the rent on the town home that much easier.
The only people who get hurt are the salespeople at Kennedy's, God rest their souls.
Ain't life grand?
J
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