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.
Because I own about 500 holiday ties and bow ties, I imagine you think I have many Groundhog Day pieces o’ neckwear. But I don’t. I own this single Groundhog Day Tie o’ the Day, and unless I run across some ultra-spectacular one in the future, I’m content with this one. I mean—Groundhog Day is not an actual holiday. And it’s not even a party day, like St. Patrick’s Day. It’s just a day to gab about a groundhog named Punxsutawney Phil, about how long his shadow thinks winter’s going to stick around this year, and how we’re already ready to move on to spring.
Anyhoo… I had a virtual appointment with my pain doctor this morning. So I sat at the kitchen island at the designated appointment time, and some unknown-to-me dude starts talking to me on my laptop. I knew exactly what he was going to say, and he did. He told me he’s a doctor-in-training, working with my normal pain doctor, and then he asked if it was okay if he asked me a bunch of questions before I talked to my official doctor. Of course, it was fine with me. We chatted for probably 10 minutes, and as he was wrapping up his note-taking , he said, “Your doctor told me I was going to see a bow tie today when I talked to you.” Oh, I immediately felt I had disappointed the whole world. I have worn a bow tie to see my pain doc at every appointment I’ve had with her for the last 8 years, partly because her name is Dr. Bow. This morning, I felt like I had disgraced myself. Sure, I was wearing this Groundhog Day Tie o’ the Day, but ties are too long to be as visible as bow ties on virtual appointments. I lifted Tie so the guy could see and read it, and he liked it so much he told me he was glad I chose it. I apologized profusely to him for not having a Groundhog Day bow tie. I guess I ought to shop for one, whether I want one or not. I can’t just go around letting people down. I felt so bad for not being the authentic “me” for Dr. Bow’s trainee. How could I not present as the bow tie wearer which she had clearly advertised me to be when she prepared him for my appointment?
When the doctor-in-training signed off, and Dr. Bow joined me a few minutes later, the first thing she said was, “Where’s your bow tie?” I was disgraced, yet again. I felt as if I had disappointed her. But Dr. Bow liked the tie, too. She also said, “It’s just that I barely recognized your face without a bow tie under it.”
FYI Check out my new Face Mask o’ the Day, complete with a secret hole built into it for a drink straw. Oh, happy Diet Coke day for me!
When I posted about my 2002 Funeral Potatoes Olympic Pin a few days ago, it pierced my heart that since the pandemic came to the planet, I haven’t really had much of a reason to accessory-up and go out on the town—especially for fancy dinner at fancy restaurants. This means that I haven’t had reason to wear my lapel pins and cufflinks as I would normally do for our travel and grand outings, which also means I haven’t been posting photos of said lapel pins and cufflinks. I must remedy that, because my accessories live in the Tie Room with the neckwear, and they deserve their place in the spotlight, too.
Grapes Bow Tie o’ the Day sits bigly below my Mormon grapes Cufflinks o’ the Day, which I’m holding between my lips. But the bilgiest deal here is my Mormon grapes Lapel Pin o’ the Day, which I’m actually wearing more as a pocket accessory in this selfie. Isn’t it the coolest lapel pin ever known to mankind? I bought it on a trip with Suzanne to a Salt Lake City Deseret Industries store, in 1985. I think you can see why I have left the piece of jewelry attached to its D.I. sophisticated packaging ever since I got it. What is not visible here is the price tag stuck to the packaging. It cost a whole 50 cents. After owning it for 36 years, it is still priceless to me and my odd funny bone.
Although I haven’t decided on the exact right Bow Tie o’ the Day for the event, I might not have to look much longer to find my Oscar gown. You know how I love my paisley, and I honestly don’t know if I could pick out anything more like me than this outfit. I can see me now, wowing them on the Red Carpet, one paisle at a time—in my cowboy boots, of course.
I was minding my own business watching Judge Judy, like I always do, when in comes the defendant, wearing what I call MY purple pimp jacket. I ran up the stairs to make sure the purple pimp jacket was still in my closet, and it was. When I knew my pimp jacket was safe and secure, and that this dude hadn’t burglarized my house to take it, I plopped back down in front of the television. I couldn’t help but cheer for the dapperly dressed man as he tried to explain his way out of the shenanigans that made him end up as a defendant on Judge Judy. Alas! He was shady, through-and-through. Even the bolo tie couldn’t save him. I felt especially bad for his jacket. It hadn’t been adopted into a good home like mine, clearly.
Anyhoo… The guilty dude has a swell jacket just like mine, but he has neither my Prince-Albert-in-a-can Bow Tie o’ the Day, nor does he have my 2002 Funeral Potatoes Olympic pin that I so proudly display here in my purple pimp jacket’s lapel. I win.
My Hat o’ the Day is from a real place: Toad Suck, Arkansas—from one of our travel adventures about 18 months ago. We had a splendid time in Arkansas, and I honor the name of this place with a couple of hats, as is my touristy way. I wear the hat today as a symbol of how I feel about my day’s bigly household chore, because the chore kinda sucks. When I have occasion to do so, I vacuum and clean the couch and love seat. But the best vacuums in the world—pet vacuums, included—cannot suck up the Skitter fur that somehow gets caught in the furniture’s seams. My mission today—if I choose to accept it, and I do—is to tweeze the trapped fur from the seams of the living room furniture. Yes, I pluck my eyebrows AND my furniture—with different sets of tweezers, of course. As Glen Campbell and I always sing, “Such are the dreams of the everyday housewife…”🤡
FYI Bolo Tie o’ the Day is a good choice to wear when cleaning. It saves the “real” neckwear from possibly being harmed in the course of housework—while still allowing me to wear my signature clothing item.
I came home from the dry cleaner’s and found Bernie Sanders levitating and guarding this rack o’ Ties o’ the Day for me. Thanks, Bernie, for keeping the citizens of the Tie Room safe against all enemies, foreign or domestic.😎
Here’s a picture of me actually calling Mom yesterday. Well, I didn’t really wear the face mask, but I thought it clashed nicely with my outfit as a whole, so I wore it for the photo. And, to be honest, I didn’t really call Mom on this obsolete phone which now hangs in my garage. But it’s the phone that hung on my family’s kitchen wall for 60 years, so I knew it had to be in the snapshot. Mom was the official house phone-answerer. Dad had a compulsive aversion to answering the phone—except when Mom was out of town overnight, and then he sat at the kitchen table, waiting for her call.
Please note the smudges on the bottom of the receiver. Mom was probably in the middle of mixing a batch of cookies when the phone last rang. Mom always answered the phone (and she was always cooking something or other as she answered), and then she’d use her shoulder to hold the phone to her ear while she washed her hands, gabbing away like a pro to whoever was on the other end of the line. I’m so glad I decided not to wash the phone before I re-hung it here with me. Those smudges have lasting meaning.
