A Class Act

A lot of people are hung up on clothes. You’d look at me and immediately see that I’m not. I am in a long-sleeved T-shirt, old ratty dock pants, and white socks. Sartorial elegance I am not. If such a thing exists, I’ll never qualify on anyone’s Register of Elegance. This is OK with me; I won’t get frazzled if you look down your nose at my comfortable dishabille. 

OK, a special trip to the store was required when my oldest son married. I worried that they heard a rumor that I’d show up in one of my Hawaiian shirts, ratty shorts, and boat shoes, my everyday attire. I did not want my new daughter-in-law and son to be miserable on their wedding day.

Well, I spiked that rumor right off. I decided to do something radically different: go for that upscale hustler vibe. You know – “slip me some crimson, Jimson, I’m way out of line!”

See, I got class!