CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN

OK, fellas, here’s something you need to avoid saying at all costs: "I think I need some new clothes."

I made that comment in passing the other day, as I was looking through my closet and realized that I was somewhat lacking in the funeral/wedding attire department. The biggest gaffe was that I said it within earshot of my wife.

It was at that point that my wife’s sole mission in life became to drag me to thousands of stores and make me look at a bunch of clothes that I didn’t want, and ultimately purchase clothes that I didn’t technically need, all because I accidentally suggested that I might need a pair of pants and maybe a shirt. Sure, there is an occasion that I may have to get dressed up at some point, but that occasion is definitely not now, and I can see no reason to tempt fate by having clothes on hand that are suitable for attending a wedding. I fear the Fate Gods may be looking down saying, "Well, it would be a shame for Mike to let that dressy get-up go to waste. Let’s schedule a wedding."

I argued to no avail with my wife, trying to explain to her that I have a complete wardrobe. I own a pair of underwear, a pair of cutoff shorts, some socks, and a T-shirt from a fraternity party I attended nearly a decade ago. Seems to me I’m covered for all occasions not involving marriage or burial.

But this was not going to cut it for my wife, who has never worn the same outfit more than once, and has outfits for occasions she will NEVER come in contact with ("Well, let’s just say that IF the Queen decides to show up for tea, I’ll be dressed appropriately, mister."). My wife’s closet could be the size of the Astrodome and it would not be roomy enough. Periodically, she will go through her closet and gather up clothes to donate to various worthwhile organizations. She will easily churn out three or four large trash bags full of clothes, many still with the tags on. Her closet has turned into a layover for clothes traveling from the department store to Goodwill. She needs to install a Duty Free shop for them.

Eventually, I relented and decided to go clothes shopping. I did this simply to humor (silence) my wife, despite the fact that clothes shopping ranks up there with having a foot amputated on the Things I Enjoy Doing Scale. Unfortunately, being hounded by my wife to go clothes shopping scores even lower on the scale.

At the first store we entered, I did what I normally do, which is to point at the first thing I come in contact with, hoping to get out of the store in less time than it takes Mike Tyson to do something psychotic:

ME: Well, here we are and…HEY! Look at this! Let’s get it and go.

HER: Those are panty-hose. And not your size. Let’s move.

So I trudged along, trying on pants and shirts and looking at ties and belts and pretending to care, but all the while hoping that someone – anyone – would spill something toxic, because I was pretty sure the authorities would make us leave the scene.

After about 92 hours of shopping through roughly 4,300 stores (Wife’s note: What a baby. It was about 30 minutes and two stores.), we (she) finally settled on the appropriate ensemble of pants and shirts and who knows what else. I was just happy to write a check and get out of there.

Thinking I had survived the ordeal, we began to head out of the store. That’s when it occurred to me that department stores are designed by the same people who design casinos. When you try and leave a casino, you have to walk past about a bajillion slot machines and game tables. Basically, there is no way you can get out without dropping a few more mortgage payments into the casino’s coffers.

Well, when you try and escape from the men’s department, you are deftly routed through the women’s department, which apparently has a giant magnet that is only neutralized by a y-chromosome. Needless to say, what started out as a trip all about Mike turned into a trip all about finding a snappy pants-suit or a to-die-for blouse or some other lame girl-type outfit that is definitely not something that I would like to shop for, since it’s not power tools or electronics or racecars or Howitzers or something.

Eventually, I made it out of the store, with my wife and me both having secured new clothes. As I put all of my new clothes in my closet where they will rest for months and possibly years, I began to think of how much of my time I may have wasted by going shopping. I mean, that was time that could have been spent doing something productive, such as not shopping. Oh, well. I guess it’s just a fact of life. Besides, the Queen should appreciate the efforts should she stop by.