But alas, it seems I am. And how do I KNOW that I'm old? Well, it's not from the aches and pains that seem to be arriving anew every day. Or from having to get up in the middle of the night to, uhm, er, visit the uhm, err, little porcelain room. Nor is it the fact that I can't run as far or jump as high as I used to just a few short years ago. Also it's not the fact that each year I go backpacking, my pack is seemingly HEAVIER although I always take some stuff out that I took last time. It's also not the fact that when I look at coins (I have always collected them), the ones from the time around when I was born seem very old now. Nor is it the fact that I have reading glasses all over the place, AND 2 sets of bifocals. Or the fact that my favorite music is STILL mostly 70's rock (they call that 'classic' now). OR the quite annoying fact that my 35th H.S. reunion is coming up next year already. SO, if it's none of the above, how on earth do I know that I'm old? Any guesses? Go ahead...try it...and see if you are right.
OK...here it is. It seems I have old clothes. As in many of my favorite clothing items (especially dress clothes) are older than the kids graduating High School this year (and last year, and the year before that). And I'm pretty sure I have some that are older than some College grads. And possibly some Masters degree grads. And most likely, a few PHD's too.
I can't verify this, but my theory is that most guy's don't really care about their clothes that much. Pretty much as long as I HAVE some clothes to wear, then I'm good. What year (decade) they were made is irrelevant. Not worth a moments thought. In fact, the question "is it clean" is just a minor thought, but even if the answer is "no" doesn't necessarily preclude me from wearing it anyway (there are many levels of clean, which might be a topic for another day). And IN style? WHO CARES? (answer: not me). Besides, WHO decides what's in style and what's not anyway? And who made them the fashion God(s)?
All right, enough teasing. I KNOW you are just DYING to hear more. And so, in the immortal words of Paul Harvey, "here is the REST of the story".
Jeannie has been after me for some time now to go thru and pick out the clothes I'll be wearing on our upcoming cruise (we fly to Anchorage next week to catch our ship). It's 7 days on the ship and we will hit ports in Skagway, Ketchikan (sp?), and Juneau, with a day in Anchorage and 2 days in Vancouver.
I had NO IDEA that I needed SPECIAL clothes to go on a cruise. And by 'special' I mean something OTHER than what I already have. I mean new. For the same unknown reason Jeannie needed pretty much all new clothes, and she has somehow sucked me in to this evil vortex of shopping. And if there's ONE THING I'm sure of, it's that pretty much universally, guys HATE clothes shopping. EVEN IF it's for us! (and ESPECIALLY if it isn't!)
My idea of clothes shopping is once or twice a year getting a new pair of Kirkland jeans from Costco ($12.99 baby!) And every decade or so some new pairs of, uhm, er, under-wear (and by every decade I mean that the old ones must have totally and irrevocably given up the ghost and are completely unrecognizable as ever having been a clothing item). And shirts? Sheesh. I get new shirts all the time. Why, I just got ANOTHER brand-spankin' new shirt at this years Tour of California! That it happens to be this years version of the Newbury Park bicycle-shop T-shirt is just an added bonus! It fits right into my collection with LAST years version. And I'll get another new LIVESTRONG T-shirt up in Davis in July with Team Fatty! Look at that, 3 months, 2 new shirts! Gosh, at that rate I'd be buried in shirts in just a few years! I actually have to be quite selective in what FREE shirts I'll wear (the old ones that have no sentimental value eventually go on to live an honorable life in my garage rag bag). I think T-shirts accumulate much like water bottles. Somehow they just keep coming in, and I keep taking them even though I DO NOT need any more. I'm like the Humane Society for shirts (and water bottles). Thankfully I run a NO-KILL facility (thus explaining the boxes of shirts and bottles in my attic).
ANYWAY. Last Sunday evening I finally succumbed to Jeannies constant nagging (I mean her never-ending extremely pleasant suggestions) and started digging in the spare bedroom closet where most of MY clothes hang out...(hang out...get it?? HA! I just SLAY myself sometimes!) After I dug out my Smithsonian wing of clothes, I gave Jeannie a nice little fashion show, and to say that she was unimpressed on a galactic scale would be a gross understatement. It seems that I am fashionably challenged in the highest order. You see, I like my clothes. I have a few beautiful sports-jackets that I bought NEW (cuz I'm a worldly guy) back in the early 90's. If they were cars, they'd almost be classics!
Here are some pics, you decide for yourself if I'm out of style.
So...I guess goodwill is going to get a nice little donation bag of some incredible OLD clothes from me in the near future. And I'm QUITE sure there will be a free-for-all when the general public finds out about this amazing score to be had. And WHEN this stuff ever comes BACK into fashion (how will I possibly know when it's IN, being as I didn't even know that it was OUT?), then I'm going to be quite ticked off! Because THEN I'll be buying this stuff all over again! And the stuff I have NOW will be going to goodwill. And those who are MORE farsighted than me (ie: single, so they can KEEP their stylish clothes without making their significant other think they are a caveman) will be right back in vogue. And it won't have cost them a dime, other than the space required to keep the stuff stored for a few years (or decades).
And as for me? Well, the Fashion Police (aka: Jeannie) are all over the case, and rest assured that I will be totally stylin' and profilin' for the cruise. And if we happen to go on ANOTHER cruise in, oh....let's say around 15 years or so from now, I'll be pulling out this years NEW clothes to wear. And then she'll HATE them too. And we'll start this vicious little circle all over again.
I tell ya', there's just no satisfyin' a woman. HEEEEEYYYYYY...maybe THAT should have been the title of this post. Oh sure, I think of that NOW. Guess I'm getting old.