But I don’t care. He’s an adult. He’s responsible for himself. He can do whatever he wants.
I have friends who, after getting married, threw out half of hubby’s wardrobe because they didn’t approve of hubby’s wardrobe choices. And they then bought new clothes and otherwise approved hubby’s fashion choices.
I disagree with this.
Even if the guy is a complete schlob and doesn’t have a clue how to dress himself with any amount of style, he’s an adult, and why should I be embarrassed by him? That just makes no sense to me at all. It’s not like I’m responsible for how he looks or anything. Same thing as kids. If a kid wants to wear a floral top with plaid bottoms, why should the parents care? The kid is expressing him/herself in his/her own way.
Basically, I guess it boils down to I’m too lazy to care. So, uh, Fahim, honey, have at ‘er.
And at this point, Fahim will interrupt and say that he can bloody well dress however he wants to and he don’t answer to me! Yeah yeah Fahim honey, calm down. I don’t know where these women get men who allow them to throw out their wardrobe. Should I argue that these men ought to have a back bone and what the heck is the matter with them anyway? Who wears the pants in your family?
Okay, so honestly, Fahim is fine. He mostly wears a dress shirt with jeans and big bulky motorcycle boots when he’s out in public. There’s nothing wrong with it – he fits in well enough. It’s not high fashion, but c’mon, he’s a computer geek. He’s expected to dress a little funny. And he doesn’t walk around with pocket protectors or in klingon costumes, so what does it matter?
The whole point of this is how he was dressed at home.
I was amused.
Fahim wears sarongs at home – not all the time, mind you. Mostly he just wears a sarong for sleeping, but he’ll sometimes wear it at other times of the day at home as well.
Take a look.
I’m not entirely sure why he elected to go the “sarong doubles as diapers” route. It could be because of a water leakage problem we have – the tap spouts water, it leaks behind the cupboard and flows onto the floor. Fahim hasn’t fixed this yet, or had it fixed, and he knows it’s his job. Meanwhile, when he does the dishes in the morning – as opposed to the night before after dinner, but I don’t complain about when he does dishes because he DOES the dishes, no nagging or asking required – Fahim is a very well trained little boy, and not by me – a puddle of water collects on the floor.
Perhaps this morning the puddle was particularly bad? Deep? And wet?