Hey, Buddy. What are you wearing?

There used to be a lady at my house who, catching me heading out the door, would say things like, “You’re not going to paint the boat in those jeans, are you? You’re not going to cut the grass in your new sneakers, are you?”

Now-a-days, I sometimes find myself painting the boat or changing the oil in what I suppose might be my newest blue jeans. I don’t do this intentionally. I don’t think, “Hey, I’ll cut the grass in my new sneakers and turn them all green!” I just decide to do a small job and I don’t stop to think, “What do I have on?”

Then, suddenly, I’ll look down and find myself surprised to realize that I have jeans on that didn’t have spots of paint on them before this very moment. Then I feel guilty, so the next chance I get I buy another pair of jeans. I now have six pair, all with some sort of stain, paint or tear.

The other side of this coin is that I no longer throw out old shirts and pants. In the past, that same lady would appear in the kitchen holding a shirt or sweatshirt or pair of pants that was too small, too torn up, too stained to ever wear again in her esteemed estimation, and she would say, “These need to go.”

A fellow who has been married for decades knows enough to agree with that suggestion even if he can see situations, changing the oil, painting the boat, where such a garment might prove invaluable. But now, when I look at certain articles of clothing I think, “I could wear that gardening, painting, digging, cutting.”

The only problem is I never do.