The Man For All Seasons
There are men who want us to believe they’re like an SUV. They’re rugged, and can travel any terrain. They’re impervious to mud, rain, sleet, and broiling temperatures.
These are the guys who, in hundred degree heat, walk calmly through an asphalt parking lot amid shimmering heat waves, in three-piece suits. No sweat shines on their craggy brows, no complaints issue from their lips. Strong guys like them don’t notice such minor things like the weather.
In the dead of winter, when you could skate to work, they’ll run to the store in their cutoff jeans, a worn tee shirt and thong sandals. Oh, and white socks, because after all, it is winter. They walk blithely past women who wear enough to outfit an Eskimo family, and behave as though they’re surrounded by a personal climate control field.
The strong, silent guy undergoes a change when he returns to his domain. Upon checking the thermostat, complaints issue from those previously closed lips.
“When did you put this on seventy degrees?” he demands. “It feels like a blast furnace.”
His wife grimaces. “Last summer it was on seventy-two and you said it was freezing”
“That was different. I’m putting it on fifty. If you’re cold, wear more clothes.”
“I’m already wearing so many layers the dog attacked me. He thought I was a burglar stealing the laundry.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, he only got to the third sweater.”
“See, those layers are good for something. Why don’t you just snuggle into that overstuffed chair and I’ll bring you some cocoa.”
“That overstuffed chair is your sister. I loaned her what’s left of my wardrobe.”
“Okay, okay. Look, let’s watch TV. It’ll take your mind off the weather.” He grabs the remote and stretches onto the couch, propping his bare legs on the coffee table.
The first channel is showing a special on the Donner Party. The next one is about ice mummies. The wife worries about those lumps in the back of her freezer.
“Anyone want ice cream?” the husband asks.
The Man for All Seasons is, however, counterbalanced by the Woman of All Fashions. While this woman is aware of the changing seasons, to her it means a new reason to shop. Whatever the new fashions for spring, summer, fall, or winter, she’s ready to buy. Her greatest attributes, according to the stores, are expensive taste and low sales resistance.
If the newest trend is two hundred dollar mongoose fur socks, she’ll be the first to own them. The Woman of All Fashions will never be caught dead near the clearance rack, where the mongoose socks hang a month after their debut. (I bought a pair for five dollars. My cat is on intimate terms with them.)
The Woman of All Fashions will dress for the climate, but only at the dictate of current trends. You will see her in the sleet covered parking lot, tottering in stiletto-heeled cowboy boots. Her full length sable coat covers the traffic-cone orange suit she ‘just threw on’ to go get some bread.
As she heads to her car, she passes a man in faded cutoffs and a tee shirt worn nearly transparent. Both shake their heads as they move on. Some people just don’t know how to dress.