Face Mask o’ the Day looks like I was marauded by a wandering band o’ paintballers. I think designs resembling paintball splotches are almost always a good look. And, like paisley and polka dots, the argyle design—here, on Tie o’ the Day—is a perpetual eye-grabber. Be ye cautious, however. Do not underestimate the powers of these designs. In the wrong hands, some patterns can overpower entire personalities, leaving you alone and adrift on the sea o’ fashion. Do not wear patterns that your spirit can’t live up to. That’s a key to any style you choose to wear: it must fit your authentic self. If it fits you, it works for you. If you try to project something you aren’t, you will downright disappear behind your attire. Disappearing behind your clothes is a good thing, only if you’re a spy—and most of us aren’t James Bond. Dress accordingly.
[I re-post this at the request of a reader who asked if I would “post the one about your fight with Suzanne and the roll of toilet paper.” After searching my post database, I’m confident this is what the reader was referring to. (Notice that I was wearing my grapes Bow Tie o’ the Day in the photo, which was in another post only a few days ago.) The following post hails from August of 2018, a few weeks after my bigly pancreas surgery—during which time Suzanne pestered me relentlessly about my not lifting anything, so I wouldn’t pop open my incision or otherwise damage my recuperating self. Enjoy, or re-enjoy this old post.]
Bow Ties o’ the Day had a fantastic time at Cafe Niche for Sunday brunch. As you can see, Suzanne wanted to get in on the bow tie act. We donned our bow tie bibs for the feast because we were famished, and we were afraid we might eat sloppily. The bow ties on each bib did a perfect job of keeping our clothing from being defaced by our lack of delicate eating. And bigly Bow Tie o’ the Day presents its grapes—Mormon grapes for Sunday, I’m sure.
Brunch can have a calming effect. I recommend it when you’re stressed out or tense. Suzanne and I stressed ourselves out by having a little tiff last night—over nothing of any real importance. But the tiff happened, and the tiff went on in silence, right on into today.
In the middle of the night when I had to potty, I ended up using the last few squares on the toilet paper roll. There was a new roll on the bathroom vanity, three inches from the tp holder. Normally, of course, I’d change out the rolls—no matter what time of the middle of the night it was. But I was still miffed about our earlier tiff, and there was no way in heck I was gonna politely take the old roll off and put the new one on. Nope. Suzanne was gonna have to do it herself the next time she needed to potty. (That’ll teach her!) And do you know what I thought in my tiff-miffed head as I walked back to bed? I thought with great sarcasm, “Well, she told me I wasn’t allowed to lift anything, and I’m sure that includes a roll of toilet paper.” And I sooo wanted her to say something to me about the tp roll incident this morning, so I could say the same snotty thing right to her precious face. But she didn’t mention it, on purpose, I’m sure. And then we went to brunch, and everything got forgiven and forgotten.
