Monday, June 10, 2013

Our Shells

I'm in the midst of changing my wardrobe. Gone are the days of Dockers khaki pants. I've gone through so many Dockers khaki pants and only just recently came to the sudden realization that every time I wore them I looked like a giant manchild on his way to church. Nothing says I will wear the bare minimum attire scraped from the bottom of the office dress code than a pair of Dockers khaki pants. Wrinkled, nonetheless.

Anyway, I'm changing my wardrobe. Real pants. And shirts packaged in plastic and stick pins. I'm not trying to be overly hoity-toity. It's just that I have a real good chance of getting a bog promotion at work and, well, you know what they say: Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

So I've been doing some shopping, and I feel like a whole new world has opened up. Before, the only times I ventured into that section of the store where you find all the nice shirts packaged in plastic was funerals and weddings. (By the way, I am so ready for someone to die! I already have something to wear!) Now, I know exactly what size I am (17 1/2 36-37) and selecting ties is kind of fun.

Oh shit - Does this mean I'm getting old? Well, for the record, in the evenings and weekends you'll find me wearing the same old pair of gym shorts and my lucky bathrobe.

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