Nattily Attired in Post-Natal Anniversary Apparal

I had a self-inflicted adventure yesterday morning that began with leaving the house, twice. I was in the car, engine running and backing it out of the garage, when I became concerned at how fuzzy everything on the rear wall of the garage appeared in my headlights (as it was VERY early). The good news was that I wasn't having a stroke-I had forgotten to put my glasses back on after shaving.

While I understand the indignant curiosity and respect an argument that says 'you're nearly as blind as a fruit bat without them! How could you forget them?!' I would offer it's very early in the morning, so much so that for many people it's more like a part of the previous night so visibility is only a conceptual notion with little practical application.

Besides, I had other things to worry about. I was to wear a generous helping of my birthday clothes. Not my birthday suit; that was on under the clothes, but a shirt, tie and trousers I have received as gifts for my birthday last week.

Make no mistake-I'm not living in or from Appalachia-I own more than one pair of shoes (though you'd not know it by the way I wear shoes) and have a full wardrobe of outfits my wife has either purchased or approved (ideally, both) as my judgment after asking her to marry me, seemingly, fled never to be seen or heard from again.

I felt like I was heading to First Holy Communion-except the tie wasn't one of those on a strap that went around your neck and hooked with a snap, but a real Pierre Cardin. I had a crisp white oxford shirt on (I am convinced 'oxford' is shirt code for 'not a button-down') and pleat-less black trousers because I hate those goofy folds up near the belt loops and between the pockets where all that fabric just billows and flows.

I had been warned by my usually loving wife to NOT make a mess in my new clothes or I would, presumably, be buried in one of the other sets she and our children had gotten me as gifts. I found the irony of being threatened with a fatal pummeling for dirtying clothes hysterical until I looked into her sweet face and saw in her eyes the soul of a dry cleaner.

I tease her about the restrictions and the constrictions but I know she has my best interests at heart. That, and I've long since accepted it's her way or the highway if I ever expect to try on those Christmas socks from Yule '99.
-bill kenny