Daryl’s Back Pages
From the perspective and pen of California Newspaper Publishers Association Gold Medal winning journalist and writer Daryl Fisher, join us as Daryl talks positively about family, friends and the interesting people and places that have shaped his life. He does so with a gentle hand and a quirky sense of humor, drawing on the simple, joy-filled experiences of everyday living. He is interested in personal snapshots, not grand panoramas, although he’s not shy about trying to pass along a few insights into the human condition whenever the opportunity presents itself. Fitting into your busy day, lighthearted views of life around 5 minutes each.
Daryl’s Back Pages
Shopping for New Clothes Can be Pure Torture
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Join us for another episode of Daryl’s Back Pages, “Shopping for New Clothes Can be Pure Torture”. Podcasts with thought-provoking insights about life in around 5 minutes.
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"Anyway, over the years, I have found it much easier and less time consuming to simply find one kind of shirt and pants that I like, memorize the size that fits, and every four or five years or so, buy a half-dozen in different colors. It works for me and makes the whole process a lot less intimidating."
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Shopping for New Clothes Can be Pure Torture
My wife and daughter cornered me awhile back and politely suggested that maybe it was time for me to consider updating my wardrobe.
“What are you talking about?” I asked them with genuine surprise. “I’ve got plenty of everything.”
“But Dad,” my daughter tried to tactfully explain, “that’s part of the problem. You’ve got plenty of all the wrong things!”
“Look,” I said, “it’s probably true that I don’t have to live in fear of being named the best dressed man in town, but I’m perfectly happy with my clothes, thank you very much. What’s the big problem?”
“Let’s see, where should we start?” my wife asked my smiling daughter.
“How about with his shoes?” she answered. “Then we can work our way up from there.”
“And just what’s wrong with my shoes?” I asked.
“Well, to begin with,” said my wife, “you’ve only got one pair, and Lord only knows how old they are.”
“But a person can only wear one pair of shoes at a time,” I reminded her. “I put some polish on them now and then and they look just as good as new. And just because you two have shoes coming out of your ears doesn’t mean that I should. Plus, I’ll have you know I have two pairs of shoes – you forgot my Reeboks.”
“And they are almost as old as your dress shoes,” said my wife, slowly shaking her head from side to side.
“And what about your pants, Dad? That’s what really bothers me.”
“But I have tons of pants.”
“But except for that one pair of blue jeans with all the holes in them, they’re all cords!” she exclaimed with horror. “Black ones, grey ones, brown ones, even a pair of white ones. I actually had a dream the other night that I got married and you gave me away wearing your white cords.”
“Now, you’re making that up,” I said.
“And when’s the last time you bought yourself a new work shirt?” asked my wife.
“But who needs a bunch of new shirts just to wear over to the newspaper” I said. “Plus, summer is here now and I’m going to be wearing T-shirts for the next few months.”
“Dad,” said my daughter in exasperation, “you don’t even own a suit! What if you die? We don’t even have anything to bury you in.”
“But I’m going to be cremated,” I reminded them. “And who needs a brand-new expensive suit for that? Plus, I think I’ve got a sports coat somewhere in my closet and I’m sure you guys can make do with that.”
“But even if you do have a 1960’s sport coat hidden somewhere away in your closet,” said my wife, “I know for a fact that the two pairs of slacks you own are so old that they shine!”
“I’m going to be dead!” I reminded them. “Who cares?”
The fact of the matter is that I have never quite understood the importance that most people place on clothes. In the summer when it’s really hot, I don’t really even need them, and in fall and winter, as long as they keep me relatively warm and comfortable, I don’t much care what they look like.
It seems to me that almost everything to do with clothes is designed to make a person miserable. First, you have to purchase them. That means you have to hang around in crowded malls where you can never find a parking place, where the help is usually rude and too busy to wait on you, and where there’s so much to choose from that I can never make up my mind on what to buy.
If you finally do find something that you like, you have to try it on, which means disrobing in a strange place with curtains that never fully close and struggling with a bunch of tags, buttons, zippers, hangers, and very cleverly hidden (and very sharp) pins that hurt like heck when they poke you. And then, without your shoes on, you have to wander around in search of a young girl half your age and ask, “Well, do you think this fits?” They always say `yes’, even if you’ve selected something a size or two off and assure you that everything will be just fine once it’s washed a few times.
Anyway, over the years, I have found it much easier and less time consuming to simply find one kind of shirt and pants that I like, memorize the size that fits, and every four or five years or so, buy a half-dozen in different colors. It works for me and makes the whole process a lot less intimidating.
Most of the women I know, however, seem to see shopping for clothes in a completely different light. They actually look forward to it, plan whole days (even weekends) around it, and in some extreme cases, turn it into a kind of art form. They painstakenly match colors to produce coordinated outfits, pick out just the right pair of shoes to bring the whole thing together, and can even somehow find out if a dress actually fits by just holding it up on a hanger in front of them.
I’m afraid this all goes over my head, but as Jerry Seinfeld once said, “How can you hope to understand people who can pour hot wax on their legs, rip the hair out by the roots, and still be afraid of a spider?”
