By Dick Wolfsie
Guest Columnist

Dick Wolfsie

Next month, Mary Ellen and I will take our first vacation out of the country since the start of COVID.

We’re very excited about this cruise. I’m already shopping, hoping to update my wardrobe — a word I just realized I have never used for my clothing. Mary Ellen has a wardrobe; I have two drawers and a closet.

I had to buy a dress shirt for one of the special dinners on the ship. I don’t like to wear a white shirt, preferring one with a bit of color, but Mary Ellen was adamant that I go traditional. I purchased an additional shirt for the more casual nights.

After a short stop at Kohl’s, I came home with the two shirts. I opened the package and tried the first one on. It fit perfectly. My wife was in the room watching me. She had a smirk on her face.

“You have a stain on your shirt already,” she said.

“That’s impossible. I just put it on,” I said.

“They must really know their customers at Kohl’s,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“They pre-stained it for you,” she said to me.

Yes, right next to the third button were brown blotches, nothing I was familiar with, despite my extensive experience with the telltale signs left by every condiment I have ever slathered on a fast-food sandwich.

“I guess I can’t wear that to dinner,” I said, about to unpack my second option.

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s gonna look like that anyway, right after you finish your appetizer.”

I reached into the shopping bag and dug out the blue button down. I carefully removed all the pins from the folded shirt before I put it on. I thought it looked great and said to Mary Ellen, “As long as I’ve got it on, let’s go out for a nice dinner.”

“You can’t wear that shirt, either,” said Mary Ellen.

“Why not?” I asked.

“It has a smudge under the second button,” she said.

Sure enough, once again I had purchased a brand new piece of apparel that had somehow anticipated its unavoidable destiny and went ahead and self-stained.

“Wait a second, Mary Ellen. I’ll wear a tie. That will cover it,” I said.

“Super idea. Too bad every tie in your closet has ketchup on it,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll button my sport coat. That will cover the mark on the tie,” I said.

Mary Ellen walked over to the closet and pulled out the one sport coat I still wear. She looked at it carefully and shook her head.

“This is not going to work. It has mustard on the lapel. Do you own a raincoat?” she asked.

After we returned home from dinner, I washed both shirts and successfully removed the original soiled areas, but the shirts were destined on the trip to be become a kaleidoscope of tasty tidbits from our buffets.

Recently, we were going over final plans for the vacation. I asked Mary Ellen questions about the reputation of the cruise line we were using.

“Do you really think I will like the food, Mary Ellen?” I began.

“Oh, yes. For you, Dick, it will be spot on,” she said.