STRIPES ARE THE NEW PLAIN

It was my birthday recently. Someone bought me socks.

They obviously don't know me very well because they are long socks. I always wear ankle length.

They are made from 71% Cotton, 26% Polyester and 3% Elastane. They clearly didn't know I always wear 100% Cotton.

Worse still, they are striped. Surely they realise I only ever wear plain.

They didn't buy them from Marks and Spencer. I always buy my socks from them.

When I say 'long socks' they are actually boot socks. I'm wearing boots and the new socks work well with them.

The material works perfectly to keep my feet feeling comfortable but not too hot.

As for the stripes. My wife said they look great. Then she said 'Wearing stripy socks is one way for older people to have fun'.

Perhaps the person who gave me them knows me so well that she felt I was stuck in my ways and needed livening up.

Anyway, I'm off out to flash my socks in public. I know how to have a good time. 

RAINBOW IS THE NEW BLACK

My wife was in a black mood. This was caused by my underpants. Apparently the fact that they were all black gave her laundry problems.

Now I have learned from experience that anything which puts my dearly beloved into a mood has to go - so out they all went and I hit the shops on pants patrol.

In no time at all I had bought every conceivable colour, red, yellow, lime green, neon orange, electric blue and so on. 

Now on laundry day, our garden is a riot of colour and this has nothing to do with our plants but everything to do with the washing line.

So is my wife happy now? Of course not.

The new problem is that when she brought in the rainbow-coloured pile of freshly laundered underpants, a rather confused and drowsy bumble bee was found nestling within trying to locate some pollen.

UPON MY SOLE

T-shirts were made with place names on them from as long ago as the early 1950's. The idea was to show everyone where you had been for your holiday. No doubt there were many who wore them to suggest they had been for an exotic holiday when in reality, they'd never gone further than Scunthorpe.

Then in the 1980's, some bright spark had the notion to put messages on your chest. These could be humorous,  protestations or perhaps adverts for pop bands or even simply the clothing manufacturer.

A few examples of ones which have caught my eye are

For her:

"My eyes are up here" (across her bosom with an arrow pointing upwards)

For him:
(Displayed on his back when riding a Harley Davidson no doubt) "If you can read this the bitch fell off"

For an ugly version of either sex:
"Drink 'til you want me"

For a very fat version of either sex:
"I beat anorexia"

The latest trend however, is for shoes to have messages to the wearer. My wife has shoes which bear the message inside them "Your feet look gorgeous".

I await the version for men's shoes -
"Your feet stink mate".

MODEL SHOPPER?

Oh no I've done it again! I swore I wouldn't repeat the mistake but there I was in the supermarket wearing something which I'd bought there. 

You do feel such a plonker standing there by a rack of the same item you're wearing as if you were somehow modelling it. 

Worse still they might think I'd slipped it on and whipped off the labels so I could do a runner without paying. Though I suppose I could point out the wine stain on the front of my item in mitigation.

In this case I was wearing the same baggy sweater as the row of them before me which mercifully hadn't gone down in price - that would have been even more galling. Actually, come to think of it, the ones on the rack weren't baggy-looking - funny that.

Anyway, I really won't do this again. Far from offering me a job as a male model for their clothes, I think it far more likely that they would call me quietly to the side and politely ask if I wouldn't mind standing well away from the sweater rack since they hoped to sell some.

I know my limitations.  

LEGGING IT

Many years and a marriage or two ago, my waist measurement was 32 inches. My leg length was also 32 inches so were it possible, I could have used my leg as a belt.

In an effort to bolster the economy, my waist has expanded over the years and is now variable from one day to the next dependant largely on how much chocolate is in the cupboard. If the chocolate is in the cupboard I'm about 38 inches but if the chocolate is in me - well you get the idea.

In terms of trouser length, my legs are still 32 inches long. They were the same length yesterday. Experience tells me that they will probably be the same length tomorrow. So if I need a new pair of trousers I just go to the shop and search for 32 inch leg trousers right?

Wrong. As my male readers will know, some shops sell even length trousers 30, 32, 34, 36, 38 etc. whilst others sell theirs in 29, 31, 33, 35, 37, 39 inch lengths. This means that if I've picked the wrong shop, when the assistant asks what size trousers I would like my choice of reply is

a) I would like my trousers to be an inch too short please.

b) I would like my trousers to be an inch too long please.

c) I shall be going to a different shop which sells trousers in my size thank you.

Unsurprisingly, the clothing sector is currently struggling to make a profit. You could say that they are not well-trousered.

LET'S PLAY DRESSING UP

My step-daughter Laura is getting married in a few months time and whilst you may think this a happy occasion it has also produced a degree of trauma. The main issue has been finding an outfit for the mother of the bride.

Female readers will no doubt understand this process but from a male perspective it has been very educational.

It started shortly after the wedding date was fixed and my wife, who needs no encouragement to go shopping, was on a mission for several weeks before the eureka moment when I received the text "I think I've found a dress".

There followed much photo-messaging as the prospective dress was circulated to the inner circle (Laura, my wife's best friend and me) and we all gave our general approval. The dress was duly purchased and that evening I was privileged to be the first to see it on. It looked awful. I thought so and more importantly, so did she. The dress went back and the process recommenced.

Weeks later the text came again - this looked more promising. That night, I was asked to give my opinion as she paraded round the bedroom with the obligatory addendum "Obviously, I shall have lost a few pounds by then". I liked it - she liked it - Laura liked it. We were over the first hurdle.

Now the search began for a 'little jacket to cover the flabby bits". In time this too materialised. We were on a roll. I was informed that buying the right handbag was not going to be a problem. I bit my tongue and managed not to mention the groaning handbag cupboard. It seemed the critical issue now was to find the right shoes.

Time passed and the bank account experienced the odd sensation of gaining a little interest before....Text: "I found the shoes!!!!!" There was a further hiatus as the shop had to order the right size but eventually they were purchased and the bride-to-be was treated to the full effect of the complete outfit plus new shoes. Apparently it was a disaster. The shoes made the whole outfit look bad so it was back to square one as my wife planned to take the dress and jacket back to the shop.

I am so glad I'm a man sometimes. All I have to do is put on a suit - job done.

Laura and I have managed to persuade my wife that it is the shoes which are wrong, not the outfit....so the world waits.....with baited breath.