I guess one thing nobody has ever called me is a clothes horse. You know, somebody who has to have all the latest fashions, or in step with the latest styles. Heck, if they can get me to wear socks, I think I’m dressing up. My idea of a uniform for the day is a Carhartt t-shirt and a pair of shorts — that is if the temperature is above 32 degrees, and then I will think about a pair of long-legged britches. But of all the clothes I own, like most men, I’ve got a favorite shirt, and that shirt has been a sore spot of my wife and children’s existence. I love it, they hate it. I’m not allowed to wear it, not just in mixed company, but it’s not to be seen by any company. And I just don’t see the problem.
Yeah, I know it’s faded so much you really can’t tell its original color, has holes, well just about every where, and the collar gave up the ghost years ago, but it’s comfortable. And it’s mine; I don’t want to throw something that still works away just because it might be just a little out of style. And I guess that is what this column’s about to start with.
That’s like the other night; one of my daughters came in with a new pocketbook. I’ve been toting the same wallet for about five years now, I’m sorry, what’s the big deal? I mean seriously, every time I look around each one of them is toting a new bag; one of them got three for Christmas. But let me walk in with a new hat, what’s the first thing I hear, “What did you buy that for, you got close to a hundred?”
Yeah, it’s true, I have a bunch of them, and it’s true, I basically wear the same one all the time. But I might need a spare. And besides I want to get all the good out of it before I retire it. Like that shirt, it still works, so why should I get rid of it? If we threw away half the stuff that doesn’t work like it should, I’d been out the door years ago.
I buy a new pair of shoes, oh every couple years; they buy a new pair sometimes I think every fifteen minutes. I buy them to keep me from going barefoot; they buy them to go with stuff. Just about any shoe will go with a Carhartt t-shirt and khaki shorts, so it must be a conspiracy against women. They walk in a shoe store and some where there is a subliminal message being piped in,” Buy the shoes, buy the shoes.” But it doesn’t work on the men though, because all we hear is, “You stepped in something, get out the store,” and being the gentlemen we are, we got to get out of there before we track it through the store.
And then we get to a man’s truck, I have yet to see a woman comprehend a man’s truck. If you boil it down to basics, a man’s truck is his recliner with 4 wheels. He’s got the seat wore in just to fit his butt, the gear shift, he knows it’s finicky, but he can work it, and those are his radio stations. The heater in my truck hasn’t worked in seven or eight years, doesn’t bother me, but drives the females of this household crazy. The window control on the driver side for the passenger window won’t work, but it doesn’t bother me, I don’t ride over there. They tell me I might need a new truck, why, I just gotten this one broke in good?
And I guess that’s my main point of this column. Men, if it works, we don’t mess with it. You ladies, well if I were to be honest, if it weren’t for y’all, we’d be in a mess. I don’t know if we are lazy or just too set in our ways, but we can’t stand change. But cut us some slack.
I know that shirt looks kind of faded, but it doesn’t pinch me around the neck like a new pair of shoes pinched your toes.
Maybe I better shut up before I get in trouble.
You can reach Robbin Bruce by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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