Call the Fashion Police

On a recent visit to La Crosse, my sister Therese wandered into my bedroom closet and expressed dismay at the dearth of clothing she found there — 15 hanging items to be exact.

“I have so much stuff stacked in here,” I told her, “that I can’t really get at the hanging rack. I just wear the clothes I throw on the chair.”

That is true, though most of the stuff on my bedroom chair is not closet worthy. That’s because my uniform in retirement consists almost entirely of jeans and t-shirts.

Oh, I vary it up a little. I have gray t-shirts, black t-shirts, green t-shirts and even brown t-shirts. I even have a few long-sleeved t-shirts.

There was never a time in my life where I would have qualified as a fashionista. At best, I tried to wear colors that looked good on me and would check my clothes for food stains before donning them for work.

Nowadays, food stains are not such a concern. Those are joined by paint stains, grass stains and all manner of things I pick up in the garage and yard. I’m somewhat of a stain magnet as I tend to wipe my dirty, sticky, greasy hands on whatever t-shirt I am wearing.

For me, dressing up is putting on a clean t-shirt — when I can find one.

But shamed by Therese’s dismay at my dismal closet contents, I rooted around on the t-shirt chair and discovered two clean t-shirts I rarely wear. I put them on hangers and stuck them on the hanging bar in the closet.

Now I have 17 items of clothing hanging in the closet that I will likely not wear in the coming months.

Heck, ┬áit’s almost time to change out those 17 summer items for my winter version of clothing I will hang in the closet, but not wear.

 

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