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A Few Hints on Modern Fashion
A guy I know, who goes by the name of My Brother P.D., has one habit that just drives me to distraction.
Well, actually, he has several. But today I’m just concerned with the way the big dope wears a baseball cap every waking second of every day. Indoors, too. Even at meals, except when I’m at the table, in which case it’s likely to be snatched from atop his head and held over the nearest open flame.
Why? It’s not like he’s bald and needs protection from the sun. If you’re looking for a reason, I suggest you see above under “Dope, Big.” See also under “Raised in LaGrange County under influence of once-dapper, then-slightly-unhinged father who had mid-life crisis and turned into Hoosier version of Willie Nelson.” See also under “Raised in LaGrange County where blaze orange hunting cap and Carhartt coat are considered appropriate for autumn funerals, including your own.”
In other words, the boy never did have much sense, as the people who know how to dress say when the funeral’s over.
So it was with some measure of delight that I stumbled across a headline the other day: “Over 50? Time To Dress Your Age.” Here, I thought, I would find something I could send to my brother to convince him to take the stupid hat off his stupid head, at least when he was indoors.
I thought wrong.
The story was full of information, but alas, it didn’t apply to P.D.:
“Don’t wear granny panties – they can age you mentally AND appearance wise.”
“Wearing pantyhose with sandals is a no-no at ANY age.”
“A little cleavage may be sexy, but showing off your décolleté in a super-low V-Neck can appear desperate.”
And so on.
I’m not all that certain about my brother’s underwear preferences, but I am pretty sure they don’t include granny panties. At least, I hope not. Actually, come to think of it, I’m not 100 percent certain my brother even WEARS underwear.
Euwww. Excuse me. I just gave myself Too Much Information. Sorry about that.
As for pantyhose, I know for certain that my brother hasn’t worn anything but white socks since 1974. In fact, they may even be the same pair. They’re white with those funky maroon and yellow stripes around the calves – just the thing for when the roller disco reopens.
And where cleavage is concerned, not an issue with P.D. He’s not one of those guys with moobs. Not yet, anyway. He is getting kind of porky, though, so stay tuned on that one.
Well, I was disappointed to say the least. I’ve been pestering my brother about his ever-present headgear for as long as I can remember, and frankly, I’m going to need help if I’m ever to get the idea through the hat AND the thick head beneath.
Or maybe it’s a lost cause. After all, if he’s not embarrassed – and evidently, he isn’t – when why should I be? In a way, we’re like the Cleavers, Wally and The Beaver. So what if people can’t believe that a dazzling Wally such as myself came from the same litter as a big overgrown Theodore like my brother?
In other words:
How could I get P.D. to dress his age ... if I he doesn’t even act it?
© 2009 Mike Redmond. All Rights Reserved.
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