I have been working very hard getting my new crop of darlings (kindergartners...for those of you who don't know that I teach four and five year olds) into the routine of a new school year so I haven't had time to write. I read a "How To Blog" article and it said, among other things, that 'one should not apologize for not writing.' So here I am, humbly, telling you, "I haven't written and I'm glad! Glad I tell you! GLAD!!!" (insert evil laughter and thunder claps here)
It also said you should write your blog while wearing your very best clothes and not while you are wearing your church underwear (holey) and eating vanilla ice cream with pineapple topping and chocolate sauce. Well, I adhered to some of that oddly specific list. It's funny though because my choice of clothing is the subject I have to write about today.
I have made no secret of the facts that I, a) am colorblind, and b) have no sense of style whatsoever. If there were such a thing as Garanimals for adults, I would still manage to get odd looks for my clothing choices. Garanimals, for the uninitiated, are garments labeled with animals so kids know that the lion pants go with the lion shirt and the zebra pants go with the zebra shirt. You can mix some herbivore clothing but if you mix an herbivore with a carnivore, look out! Having known for some time that I was clueless I adhered to the one rule that I could memorize. "Everything goes with jeans." This I was told by my very helpful roommate who quite honestly was just tired of me walking into the living room holding two hangers and a clueless expression on my face. When Sylvia agreed to marry me (thank you very much Honey) I told her that I was a clean slate. I will wear pretty much anything but there had to be one rule. "Everything I own has to match everything else I own." Of course I didn't stick to that rule, and I have, with the help of my wife, my teenage daughter, and a helpful clerk or seven, been able to pull off 'an outfit' from time to time.
All I have to do is remember that the striped slacks go with the darkest dress shirt and the tie with the colored pencils on it (I am a teacher after all) will match just about every color under the sun. Voila! I can pretend to have style and it never hurts to hear, "You clean up good."
But alas, the male ego is a fragile beast and a single sling or half an arrow can send even the most accomplished style-faker into a funk. That, unfortunately, is what happened today.
It was rainy day recess, the recess that is feared throughout the land of all teacherdom, and I was among my wonderful class of kindergartners opening juice boxes, doling out goldfish crackers (because real goldfish are a choking hazard. I won't make that mistake...again), and generally making sure that everyone had something to occupy their time. I was playing an educational movie on the large projector that I 'repurposed' to accommodate things like DVD players. There were no tears, no 'accidents', and best of all, no arguments. It was very nearly the best rainy day recess that I had ever experienced. Little did I know that my entire sense of self would be thrown to the style conscious wolves by a five year old.
I was walking around making sure everyone and everything was ok when I walked in front of the screen, and coincidentally, in front of little Desi (not his real name...but Mr. Arnaz really knew how to wear a puffy armed outfit didn't he!) I crouched down and moved quickly to avoid blocking the view for too long when all of a sudden Desi pointed at me and yelled, "HA!!!!! Black pants and black shoes!!" (then he snapped his fingers in a 'zee' formation and said "oh no you di'int!"...not really but he could have.)
And then he went back to sucking the last drop of liquid out of his juice box. The little fart just called me out and then left me to blow in the breeze...while wearing black pants and black shoes. The worst part, besides the fact that it was like he was momentarily possessed by the bleached blond effeminate fella on that show about clothes, is that I have no idea what he meant by that! I know there are certain things people say about clothes. Don't wear white after Labor Day. Don't mix stripes with plaids. Don't wear black socks and cowboy boots with Bermuda shorts. I don't know why, but these have stuck. Now I need to find someone who can explain the whole, "HA! Black pants and black shoes!" dilemma.
I am reluctant to look anything up on Google for the simple fact that whenever I search for something relating to clothes I usually get to places where they say things like, "these people would look differently if they were wearing black pants and black shoes...instead of nothing at all." I gotta tell you it was junior high school all over again, and little Desi got his ego-deflating shot in without any effort at all!
Well I'm teaching him! Tomorrow I'm wearing my blog writing tuxedo. Of course it does come with black pants and black shoes!
It also said you should write your blog while wearing your very best clothes and not while you are wearing your church underwear (holey) and eating vanilla ice cream with pineapple topping and chocolate sauce. Well, I adhered to some of that oddly specific list. It's funny though because my choice of clothing is the subject I have to write about today.
I have made no secret of the facts that I, a) am colorblind, and b) have no sense of style whatsoever. If there were such a thing as Garanimals for adults, I would still manage to get odd looks for my clothing choices. Garanimals, for the uninitiated, are garments labeled with animals so kids know that the lion pants go with the lion shirt and the zebra pants go with the zebra shirt. You can mix some herbivore clothing but if you mix an herbivore with a carnivore, look out! Having known for some time that I was clueless I adhered to the one rule that I could memorize. "Everything goes with jeans." This I was told by my very helpful roommate who quite honestly was just tired of me walking into the living room holding two hangers and a clueless expression on my face. When Sylvia agreed to marry me (thank you very much Honey) I told her that I was a clean slate. I will wear pretty much anything but there had to be one rule. "Everything I own has to match everything else I own." Of course I didn't stick to that rule, and I have, with the help of my wife, my teenage daughter, and a helpful clerk or seven, been able to pull off 'an outfit' from time to time.
All I have to do is remember that the striped slacks go with the darkest dress shirt and the tie with the colored pencils on it (I am a teacher after all) will match just about every color under the sun. Voila! I can pretend to have style and it never hurts to hear, "You clean up good."
But alas, the male ego is a fragile beast and a single sling or half an arrow can send even the most accomplished style-faker into a funk. That, unfortunately, is what happened today.
It was rainy day recess, the recess that is feared throughout the land of all teacherdom, and I was among my wonderful class of kindergartners opening juice boxes, doling out goldfish crackers (because real goldfish are a choking hazard. I won't make that mistake...again), and generally making sure that everyone had something to occupy their time. I was playing an educational movie on the large projector that I 'repurposed' to accommodate things like DVD players. There were no tears, no 'accidents', and best of all, no arguments. It was very nearly the best rainy day recess that I had ever experienced. Little did I know that my entire sense of self would be thrown to the style conscious wolves by a five year old.
I was walking around making sure everyone and everything was ok when I walked in front of the screen, and coincidentally, in front of little Desi (not his real name...but Mr. Arnaz really knew how to wear a puffy armed outfit didn't he!) I crouched down and moved quickly to avoid blocking the view for too long when all of a sudden Desi pointed at me and yelled, "HA!!!!! Black pants and black shoes!!" (then he snapped his fingers in a 'zee' formation and said "oh no you di'int!"...not really but he could have.)
And then he went back to sucking the last drop of liquid out of his juice box. The little fart just called me out and then left me to blow in the breeze...while wearing black pants and black shoes. The worst part, besides the fact that it was like he was momentarily possessed by the bleached blond effeminate fella on that show about clothes, is that I have no idea what he meant by that! I know there are certain things people say about clothes. Don't wear white after Labor Day. Don't mix stripes with plaids. Don't wear black socks and cowboy boots with Bermuda shorts. I don't know why, but these have stuck. Now I need to find someone who can explain the whole, "HA! Black pants and black shoes!" dilemma.
I am reluctant to look anything up on Google for the simple fact that whenever I search for something relating to clothes I usually get to places where they say things like, "these people would look differently if they were wearing black pants and black shoes...instead of nothing at all." I gotta tell you it was junior high school all over again, and little Desi got his ego-deflating shot in without any effort at all!
Well I'm teaching him! Tomorrow I'm wearing my blog writing tuxedo. Of course it does come with black pants and black shoes!
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