As is my habit at the end of the year, I replenished the wardrobe last December. Shirts especially, and among the shirts, white shirts were most sought after. Enter Goodwill where shirts are $3.50 with a lot of life left in them. I don't know who it is that can pay $75 for a shirt only to discard it a year later, but I'm glad they can because that's where I get most of my shirts.
A week or so into January, I awoke wondering what I had been thinking. Why did I buy a white shirt with French cuffs? I don't own cuff links anymore, not like I did back in the day when I had all my daddy's gold cuff links.
I rarely wear white shirts when I'm traveling because of the likelihood that I'll wear my lunch also, and so it was only last week that I managed to wear enough white shirts to make it through the stack. Friday, I realized that no French cuffs had arisen.
WTF? Did I dream about the cuffs? Did I discard the shirt? I had no clear memory of the shirt's disposition. I wrote this off to being an old fart with vivid dreams. It'll probably get better in the coming years. Before long, I'll have complete memories of the space vacation I never took. Maybe I should start writing books about how the future will be, what with having dreamed it and all.
So, so, so...Today, I need a dark shirt, and I reach to the top of the dark stack. My rule is to wear the next shirt unless I have some compelling reason to start making fashion decisions, and that's a recipe for disaster in my case. The next shirt is blue. A dark blue. I pull it off the hanger, and lay it out for my post-shower dressing.
French cuffs. Here are the French cuffs. So much for the white shirt dream. Do you suppose wooden clothes pins will serve for cuff links on a cold Monday morning?