I’m likely the worst suitcase packer in the world but am lucky be married to one of the best. Ann does all of the logistical planning and the packing for our vacations because, if left up to me, we’d bring our stuff aboard in Food Lion “carry-on” sacks.
I want to be more help in the process but can’t quite make the case of why it matters what I wear. Ann’s attitude is polar opposite to mine and, therefore, over the past few weeks has been assembling her clothes and which accessories “go” with each outfit.
I believe most men — certainly this one in particular — couldn’t care less. My formula for appropriate dress is drop-dead simple: Warm places equal shorts and sandals; cold places equal jeans and sandals.
My general disinterest in how I look is a double-edged sword. On the positive side, I’m probably the most comfortable guy in any room, which is of highest personal importance.
On the negative side, I likely scare away some potential clients with my beach-bum raggedness. I tell myself anybody choosing accountants because ties match shirts may have flawed priorities. But who knows? I surely don’t.
Times they are a-changing. This year, I’m making a concerted effort to clean up my travel act on our yearly adventure. I’ve even augmented my “wardrobe” with really neat stuff I ordered from a mail-order store in Hawaii.
I don’t know how their catalog found its way to our door, but they had some clothing items that really struck a chord … my chord. Their product descriptions kept using my two favorite styling words, “cotton and comfortable.”
They offer pants and shorts right down my alley, softest cotton in great colors. And true to the sales hype, their products did turn out to be “unbelievably comfortable.”
This isn’t an infomercial, but I should mention the company name, which is “Crazy Shirts.” Unless their clothes fall apart in mid-vacation, you can bet I’ll be doing a lot of future business with them.
When the last UPS truck pulled away from our door, I’d done more than “augment” my ratty wardrobe; I’d pretty much replaced my whole suitcase. So this year when we do our tourist thing together, strangers won’t whisper as we pass by, “Isn’t it nice of that attractive lady to help the homeless?”
Now the only thing lacking for a successful trip was a few tiny items of big importance. Solved! Yesterday I bought snacks to take on the plane.
Anytime I go aboard a boat or plane, I immediately get hungry. I’m sure there’s a clinical explanation, but that’s between me and my stomach.
I’d have made a terrible Viking. The crew would’ve thrown me overboard for raiding the food locker before we rowed away from the dock.
I would’ve likewise been a poor Wright Brother. Could “The Wright Flyer” have risen off the sand dune with added weight of sandwiches and a batch of cookies?
My travel munchies might’ve created a history mystery.
Otis Gardner’s column appears here weekly. He can be reached at ogardner@embarqmail.com