An Epiphany

I. Don't. Need. Any more clothes.

Looking through my closet, I came to this conclusion. I feel sad. There are no new worlds to conquer.

And this is after paring down my wardrobe before moving. And after moving.

I used to get up every morning and dress nicely. Sometimes choosing my wardrobe was the highlight of my day. But since I gave up working, I generally wear one of my four pairs of jeans every day. And a t-shirt or sweater. Undergarments and sunscreen complete my look.

I used to wear suits, but I have no more need for them now than I do for a bustle.

I am surprised anyone ever buys clothes, considering the stuff for sale in the stores. The evidence on the street, and even in more sophisticated venues bears this out. People wear jeans, unless they wear something even more plebian, like hideous shorts and t-shirts with witty (!!!) sayings.

This is hard to believe, but years ago, when a couple went out, even to play cards with another couple at the home of couple B, the man of couple A wore a jacket and tie and the woman pantyhose. I can hardly believe it myself.

Nowadays, the people on the street, at the mall, or in restaurants--even fancy ones--look like inhabitants of some backward Soviet client state--say Romania-- circa Jimmy Carter. Drab. Everyone looks depressed. Who wouldn't be, looking like that?