Make a choice or two
If I were a rich man, I think that I’d hire a personal assistant. No need to have a cook or bottlewasher, not even a dog walker, but just someone that had a keen eye and a sense of what should make the short list of clothing in my closets. Because I’ve come to the realization that I’m not very good at picking what to wear.
What brings on this personal angst is the decision I’ve made to put away my winter coat. The weather is warmer this week and when it’s time to get on the bus (at the end of a long day) my long parka is “overdress”. It’s time to get a new summer jacket and I’m lost.
My taste is for the kind of garment that some call “technical”: lots of pockets, a fabric that follows the GoreTek line of thought (moisture out not in), a colour that doesn’t make me into a target for sniper birds or malarial insects. Hard choices in a city where there are way too many shops catering to the mountain climbing trekker with a kayak in tow. The manufacturers keep moving the mark; I can’t even find what I had to allow “easy replacement”.
The online catalogues are dreadful. No chance to examine the zippers or see if there’s an optional polar liner (it gets cold during those short midsummer nights). The hood; I can’t even be sure if there is one, because the illustrations are terrible. Didn’t whole generations dress themselves in the mode presented by Mr. Eaton and Mr. Simpson?
I’m now down to that other option. I may have to enter a store, stand in front of a rack and try on a coat or three; quickly, before the smirky clerk arrives to see if I require some direction or assistance. Is it that obvious? If only I could arrive early, try on everything that caught my eye, make a deliberated decision and then stand at the cash, awaiting the person with the ability to take all my money. Something that my friends refer to as “shopping”. Shudder and not because the night is cold.
Maybe tomorrow.
