Recently, I heard that once a man reaches the age of forty-six, (Dave's age) he stops caring about fashion. At. All. In essence, the clothes he owns at this age will be the same clothes he ends his life in, barring any significant weight gain or loss, of course.
Dave, however, must be advanced. For he has been wearing, basically, the same outfit since I met him: Levis, (until they stopped making them long enough and he had to switch to Wranglers) t-shirts in navy, black, or gray, and tennis shoes or boots. Occasionally, when he's feeling fancy, he'll accessorize with a baseball hat or an oversized flannel shirt, but these are donned more out of necessity (he's cold) than fashion.
Dave and I met when we were nineteen. So I guess fashion went by the wayside a long time ago at the Larson house. But that's okay. I can't imagine him any other way.....except for, maybe, clad in spandex.
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