So, there is this enormous coat that lives at my house. It’s a man’s coat, worn by the man of the house on any day where there is a chance of freezing temperature or some possibility that he may be called away to the Arctic Circle on business. It’s reversible, which is an iron-clad guarantee that we won’t be seeing it or any of its counterparts on the runway of Fashion Week anytime soon. Except in Yakutsk. The coat has resisted stepping aside gracefully in the face of not one, but two purchases of stylish and attractive outerwear. Its pockets contain what amounts to a small Y2K kit and about seventy thousand minor receipts, presumably for the items in the doomsday prep outfit: gum, lighters, fun size candy bars. You have figured out that this is not the coat of a fitness nut.
I am using today’s ninety-degree plus temperature as an excuse to A: Deep six the coat in the attic, and, B: Stuff some tube socks in the sleeves to “hold its shape.” The geometrical term for the shape to which I refer is “amorphous coatlyhedron.” No, I have no idea where your tube socks went. Maybe they went to look for a nice tube to live in.
I try super hard to live and let live in the wardrobe department, especially since I have recently felt that my own wardrobe is beginning to lean toward the Amish persuasion. If he had his druthers, though, no item of his clothing would ever go to Goodwill or become a soft and absorbent rag, regardless of holes, paper thinness, or ugliness of coat. However, sometimes I am weak. I may have let slip once that he could not wear the “homeless guy coat” out to dinner. And then, I might have postscripted that one with something to the effect of–“I am not comfortable going on a date with Aqualung.”