What happens when you are just born without fashion sense? I mean, look at this painting I did a few years back, it all fits. All the colors are in all the right places.
You’d think, having an artistic nature, I would be good at coordinating clothes and colors and getting myself looking smart, but the fact is that I am hopeless at putting an ensemble together that doesn’t look like I’ve been dumped off a turnip truck after a long day picking.
It is not that I don’t want to look good, because, as they say, if you look good you will feel good. That brain function just doesn’t work for me. I reach into the drawers and pull something out, and no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to get it right. I’ve even tried and look in the closet and pick something that would NOT go together. That doesn't work either.
Did you know that unless you match the right shade of blue with the right shade of blue, you will look like a blooming idiot? The problem is I have no clue what those blues may be.
On my sixtieth birthday, we had a little shindig at the homestead. In my closet was an array of clothes that, individually, were just perfect.
I picked a pair of shorts I liked. Then I pulled a nice linen shirt I wanted and put them on.
The problem is the pair of shorts I liked were not in love with the shirt I wanted. The lovely pink shirt ended up continuously bickering with the colorful tropical yellow shorts. I tried to keep them in order, but they just wouldn't listen to me. They just kept arguing and disagreeing with each other.
Eventually, Andrea chimed in to stop the argument, “Now, that’s enough! All three of you upstairs!” She said, "I’ll be up shortly to settle this argument once and for all."
Knowing who the boss really was, the yellow shorts and the pink shirt shut up immediately. Andrea has that way with clothes, she can order them to do just about anything. And they listen.
My wardrobe choice was driving me crazy. I was trying to figure out what I did wrong. I picked the clothes I loved. They were each wonderful in their own way. But the minute you put them in proximity to each other they clashed.
I remember picking out the clothes myself. You wouldn't believe it. They were trying to blame each other for the sorry situation we got ourselves into. I was only an innocent bystander in this clothes selection magnum opus.
When I went to pick out my clothes, it was like walking into a homeless shelter with a hundred dollar bill hanging out of my pocket. Everybody loved me.
While perusing the Attenborough collection, I saw lots of contenders.
I have many colorful shirts, but they’re long-sleeved shirts, and they didn't want to play on this warm summer's day.
One shirt, one exceptional shirt, jumped out and recommended itself. It said, “Scott, you know you like me. I’m that pink golf shirt that you like so well. Wouldn’t it be just the best thing in the world if you would wear me today? I know you like me best. Don't you?”
I thought, “Of course, I love you pink shirt, please come out and play today.”
What a fabulous choice; on went the shirt.
Rummaging through my drawers I saw one of my favorite pairs of shorts, the yellow shorts said, “It’s warm outside, I know that’s unusual for England, I’m a great pair of shorts, don’t you want to wear me. Pick me! Pick me!”
"Brilliant - I love you too," I said, and the shorts went on.
Both items were, in themselves beautiful clothes, fabulous clothes, they were clothes of considerable standing in my drawers and closet.
I should have known there might be problems when I lay the clothes across the bed, and they started to clash. They were both vying for world domination. Yellow is such a colorful color; it’s a vivid color; it’s a fabulous color. I said, “Pink, you are one on my favorite colors too.”
Eventually, Andrea came up the stairs and completely dismissed that the clothes were still arguing. I wasn't arguing. I wasn't to blame. But she said, "You silly, silly man. Do you see what you've done here? Don't you know those colors don't ever want to be together? Everybody could see they were arguing. Everybody could see you had no control over the clothes. Do you know how embarrassing that was?"
I looked down at my shoes, and kicked the carpet with my right foot gently and said, "I'm sorry, but it's not my fault. They chose me."
"Do you know how silly that sounds."
"Okay, let's see what else there is to wear."
In an instant, the clothing goddess arranged my recalcitrant wardrobe.
In the end, it was a lovely party. I loved every minute of it, even though my clothes tried to ruin the occasion.
So, if you see me around and I look like I've got it all together fashionwise, it's either a fluke or I've had some very good advice and direction. Probably the latter.
Until next week, I wish you clothing peace.