Sartor ReFartus

Blessing looked me up and down. "You are the worst dressed person I have ever met."

"Hey! I'm not that bad. What about Hitler?"

"What about him?"

"Wait, did you say worst person ever?"

"No! I said you're the worst dressed ever."

"Oh. That'll fly."

Blessing plucked at my shirt sleeve.

"You look like a bum who just washed himself in burrito sauce."

"Thanks!"

"That shirt, what is it, polyester?"

"My mommy bought it for me."

"And those pants. You should be dressing better than this!"

"Target is having a sale on fine washables."

Todd came over.

"Plastic death," he whispered in his beard. Then, like a ghost, he left.

Blessing was still shaking her head. "And those shoes...!"

Tears trembled in my eye sockets. "Look, I'm not married anymore. I don't have anyone dressing me. And that valet I hired quit because of all those crimes he had to cover up for me."

"Well, just don't blog about me. I have very delicate feelings."

"Don't worry, I won't." (Smirk.)

Just then Vignette, Karen's daughter, sailed past the circulation desk. She wore a baseball cap and hoodie and baggy jeans. Karen later told me that Vignette was trying to be as "ugly" as possible. She didn't want men looking at her.

"I understand," I said. "See, and that's why I dress this way. I don't want too much attention from the ladies. Can you tell Blessing that?"

Karen laughed. "Oh, that shirt! That shirt! It should be run up on charges at The Hague!"

Sometimes life goes in circles, yo. Blessing's fusillade of lampoon brought to mind the old days when I had another coworker tease me unlovingly for my fashion sense. In fact, she drew a delightful picture that I used to keep over my desk.

image courtesy of Malaise Industries

Jonah came over. "Don't listen to them, Greg. Hegel would want you in a dialectic of clothing, not strict materialism."

"Uh, right."

Then I remembered a dream. A voice was hectoring me and I defended myself by saying that I knew my dark navy shirt didn't go with my black pants. Just then I passed by Jonah who was wearing the same ensemble, but the black pants were corduroy. Then Jonah's abundant hair started to sprout like the Challenger explosion, and I realized he was growing dreadlocks.

But I was embarrassed to point out the phenomenon, being a white guy, and I flubbed my line, saying, "You're growing gredlocks, Jonah!"

Another memory: when I worked at Barnes & Noble I dimwittedly realized that I worked with a lot of homosexual men. When I once asked one of them, why didn't they think I was also gay? my fabulous friend looked me up and down.

"The way you dress?"

Fashion incompetence--the best way to prove one's extreme manhood! (R-right....?)