You see, my wife has an affinity for clothes -- "fashion", as she would call it. Personally, I'm just baffled by it. We live in a farm house in rural Maine. The only fashion needed here are blue jeans, warm shirts, good boots for mud season, and one sensible coat you can wear most of the winter season.
My wife has dozens of coats. A few sensible, most just (well, let's face it) bizarre. There's the ones that have no buttons (from the 1950's, called a 'clutch' coat, for obvious reasons); the tapestry coats that could double as a floor rug, and the faux leopard fur from more recent vintage.
And don't get me started on the jewelry. Rings for every occasion or no occasion. Pins and earrings and necklaces to match. All to be coordinated before a trip anywhere. Case in point:
There we were, returning from a trip to the dump, recycling bins and empty paper bags piled in the back seat of the Mazda. I'd been raking leaves all weekend and needed a break, so I suggest going out to brunch. She quickly agrees, but wants to change her pants (sensible but worn pants she'd rather not be seen in public wearing.) Sounded good to me, so we return home, and she runs in to change while I empty the bins from the car.
I decide to put on a pair of more respectable shoes; the ones I was wearing were the most comfortable pair of old leather loafers, but they had seen better days. So, I'm all set in blue jeans and blue work shirt and an old, fuzzy, fall jacket. I'm still waiting for my wife to reappear.
So, I call my brother out in Iowa and we chat for about 15 minutes. My wife has yet to show up. I hang up and go looking for her. There she is fully changed, wearing a crisp white shirt, black pullover, black pants, new rings, a matching brooch, and a wooly black coat (unbuttoned of course.) Lisa Douglas, eat your heart out. I shake my head, put on my Audubon cap, and head out the door.
Did I ever mention the time my wife and I were visiting friends in the Adirondacks and we all ended the day climbing a mountain trail there, and she made it up and back... in clogs?
I'm sure we'll be meeting Arnold Ziffel any day now...
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