Clothes are clothes

My husband will wear his nice clothing no matter what the task at hand may be. It is perplexing why this man will wear his best shirts and slacks while doing chores. To him clothes are clothes. Just for wearing. Ok. So I figured after some years of marriage that I have broken this man from the habit of wearing his dress clothes (office attire) around the house on the weekend. Nope. We have a weekly fatality.

Like the time when he wore his best casual polo shirt and golf shorts to do some weekend woodworking. He ended up getting grease and paint all over them. He now has a nice woodworking ensemble.

Or when he decided to eat pasta Mobster style and managed to spill lunch down his front staining his silk silver tie, baby blue button down shirt and tan Ralph Lauren slacks. I still cannot get that stuff out, thankfully his jacket was out of range.

I find this habit of his to be rather vexing because I am the one that has to use the laundry magic wand to remove the stains from his clothes. Why me? Because if I do not treat the stains then he'll just use bleach. Garrr.

This morning I came downstairs after my morning shower only to find my husband painting the powder room wearing his (new) best golf shorts and a decent polo shirt, and I'm talking a polo shirt business men would wear on casual Friday, not the Wal-mart or Target kind.

Here's what transpired:

Me "Good morning." I really notice his attire and think to myself, 'Self don't go crazy, remember it's early and you have yet to drink coffee.'
Him giving me a goofy grin: "Hi. You finally got up."
Me: "Sure did. I see that you are a motivated guy this morning. How's the painting going?" I'm really trying not to show my irritation. I wince every time he moves, in fear of the paint getting on him.
Him super focused on painting around door: "Yeah. I just wanted to bust this first coat of primer out before the girls wake up. I want to get this room painted and done this weekend."
Me: "I see. That is a great plan."

He turns away from me to dip the roller in the paint pan. And then I see it. I grab onto the wall and brace myself. His backside has several paint spots on it. His nice golf shorts have been riddled with paint from where he backed into the wet wall.

I couldn't take it anymore. I said "Hey. Ummm. Did you know that you've ruined those shorts?"

Him: "Huh? What!?"
Me: "Yeah. It looks like you backed into the wall a few times. They kinda look polka-dot-ish in the back."
Him: "%*@#$" He stares at me in disbelief and puts down the paint roller
Me: "You know, those were your best golf shorts."
Him: "Flippin' A! I know that.....I guess they're not good for the course anymore." Frantically looking at his shorts, noticing the paint spots.
Me: "That's too bad. They were really nice. I bet they were really comfortable."
Him: "They're my favorite shorts!"
Me: "Were."
Him: "Hey....I bet you could get the paint out of these and they'd be good as new. Right? You're good at getting stuff out of clothes."
Me: "Perhaps, but I've never had to remove paint from anyone's super nice fancy golf shorts before."
Him: "Crap. Why do I always do this?"
Me: "Because you're a mental defect?"
Him: "I guess so."

He heads for the bedroom to change as I add "Hey. While you're at it, why don't you put on a ratty t-shirt instead of that polo shirt? Unless of course you were hoping to have a matching outfit."


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