The only peculiar vestige of clothing from ages past that men seem to be occasionally required to wear is the necktie. An odd encumbrance, if you really start to think about it -- even when done in a tasteful paisley. I suppose you can fix stuff with it. Maybe turn it into a temporary fan belt or something.
Women's clothing, however, is a whole other world of weirdness. What man in his right mind would try to squeeze himself into something called "Lipo-in-a-Box" just to look smoother? The Lipo-In-A-Box onesie -- is a one piece, flesh-colored elastic-thingy that does not have much in the way of instructions with it. They used a plastic torso mannequin to model the one I purchased. When I was watching QVC I thought to myself: "How the heck do you go to the bathroom in that thing? Must have snaps or something." The "or something" was right. It had this little hole in the crotch that I guess you were supposed to use if you had to tinkle. I don't know how you were supposed to go number two. Guess you'd better pack a can of WD40 so you can slide the thing off in a jiffy. Actually the little pee-pee hole would have been kind of naughty if the Lipo-In-A-Box onesie hadn't been the single most unattractive undergarment I had ever seen in my life. After I got the thing on (Damn, does it stretch!) I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do -- did the pantyhose go under or over? I decided over, especially since I already had the thing on.
I know it is no longer fashionable to wear pantyhose, but I hate shoes without socks. My mother used to tell me as a child to never to go barefoot outside or we could get worms. I would watch Opie on "The Andy Griffith Show" skipping around, barefoot and whistling, and wonder how come he never got worms. I don't know what this has to do with socks, but I have never had worms. I don't know about Ron Howard, but maybe somebody from child services should have looked into that little scenario. I think this relates to why nobody in Hollywood wears stockings any more, but I haven't put it all together. I guess their feet don't stink either. Mine do. This is why I wear socks.
That brings me to "the-shoes-that-would-not-stay-on-my-feet." Michael (DH) gave me a mere 24-hour notice on attending a Spring formal for the Army. I decided to work this whole scenario to my advantage by telling Michael I would attend the formal, but it would cost him. Shortly thereafter I chanced upon a pair of shoes that were perfect. They were a cream D'Orsay style shoe made out of snake belly. That's right: Snake belly. How such a beautiful pair of shoes wound-up at a "Rack Room" just off of Ft. Bragg I didn't ask -- they were just beautiful and I needed them. They were even comfortable. One problem, though. They would not stay on my feet. Other than that they were perfect. No problem. I hate dancing, so I could forgo the dance part of the evening, thus keeping the shoes on my feet. My plan was for Michael to drop me off at the door of the hotel and walk as short a distance as possible to the ballroom. Who knew the ballroom was miles away from the hotel entrance? Looking as graceful as a wounded moose, I made my way to the hotel ballroom. Michael kept getting ahead of me and I kept having to tell him to wait-up. I would take two steps, a shoe would come off, two steps, shoe off again. I actually had to turn around a couple of times to retrace my steps to fetch a wayward shoe. I think maybe they would have stayed on if I had put carpet tape on the bottom of my feet. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier? I blame it on the Lipo-In-A-Box that had cut-off all circulation to my brain.