As hard as this may be to believe, I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. Whenever I am even close to a mirror it immediately flashes a warning sign, “Objects in the mirror are even uglier than they appear.”
I’m no clothes horse; more of a clothes night-mare. I’m no fashion plate either. (Not even a fashion saucer). I just don’t have any interest in clothes, or shopping for them. Never have. When I come out of the closet it looks like I was dressed by Goodwill Industries. Actually, I have no need for a closet because I carry my wardrobe on my back and it consists of jeans, tee shirt and ball cap. If I add a flannel shirt it’s formal wear. One smart aleck friend suggested I could be arrested for indecent exposure even when I’m fully dressed.
If I do have any style at all I guess you could call it “cowboy chic.” I have holes in my jeans and my tee shirts are ripped and often sport offensive phrases like, “Al’s A1 Septic Service where the grass is always greener.” When I do have to dress up, like to go to the Dollar Store, I might wear a bluer pair of jeans and tuck in one side of my shirt.
My mother would kill me if she could see me now.
Part of the reason I’ve never liked to dress up is that fashion is confusing to me and involves far too many decisions. Take cowboy hats for example. Do I wear felt or straw? I know, there are rules about that sort of thing but another thing I don’t do well is follow rules. If I wear a black felt hat I look like a rebel outlaw but if I wear a white hat I look like a banker or a purebred auctioneer. I’ve found that I can avoid these sorts of questions by wearing a straw hat. But do real cowboys wear a hat with three holes in the side for air conditioning? And how do I want the hat shaped? See, there are far too many decisions. So I just wear a free ball cap from an auction market to hide my oddly shaped, and mostly bald, head.
Footwear is my biggest fear. Do I want slip-ons or lace ups? I really like the feel of the low slung Justin Ropers but they don’t cover up my mismatched socks and are they really “cowboy”, or are they just tennis shoes masquerading as boots? Then I have to decide if I want cow hide, bull hide, calf skin, ostrich, alligator, eel or other members of the slithery set? And what about color? I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a hairdresser or a barrel racer but wouldn’t a little chartreuse or yellow on my boots help distract people away from looking at my ugly mug? And we haven’t even begun to talk about if cowboy boots are to worn inside or outside of my pants.
I hate wearing ties the worst and I feel that choke straps should be reserved for dogs. But bolo ties are out of fashion and I look even more stupid in a wild rag. For some reason if I wear one, instead of looking like a real cowboy, I look like some stuff-shirt member of the royal family in an ascot. Although, a wild rag would come in handy for hiding my face from public view and I could probably win an award for city beautification if I wore one regularly
All these decisions and we haven’t even discussed whether to wear a wrist watch or pocket watch, a vest or a jacket, belt or suspenders, Leatherman, knife, or plain wire cutters? Stop! I’m getting a headache! Why subject myself to all this abuse when I can merely dress like a slob and just not look in any mirrors?
Of course the biggest decision of all is if I should wear Levis or Wranglers. I’d love to be able to wear Wranglers and look like George Strait in them but you’ve heard what they say about them, that “Wrangler butts drive girl’s nuts!”
To the best of my knowledge my derriere has never driven any female to the insane asylum.