Nothing to wear

We are heading off to a conference this week and we have had our usual 'I haven't got anything to wear' conversation.

I don't want to sound unsympathetic but I approach the issue with a completely different perspective than my dear Mrs M.

We entered this dialogue immediately after an in-depth assessment of my wardrobe methodology. Apparently my bride doesn't feel that my system gives full honour to the hard work she has put into the ironing.

I foolishly asked her to explain her comments and so we stood in front of my proud collection of shirts and pants whilst my wife explained how I wasn't making good use of the available space.

I tried to seem interested but I couldn't help feeling that I was letting down all male members of the human race by spending too much time looking at cloth. I mistakenly said this thought out loud and was informed that I was as old fashioned as the corduroy jeans that have mocked me for the last five years. I bought them just after they changed the sizing system to make Medium the new Large.

Anyway, faster than a speeding knitting needle, my wife rearranged my clothes into an order that made her sigh with satisfaction.

'There you are!' she exclaimed.

In deed, there I was; my garments were now gathered in order of smartness and colour. My best shirts were neatly lines to the right and my comfortable, if slightly scruffy, T-shirts were waiting for me on the left.

Granted, it had a certain aesthetic appeal but I wasn't convinced that it offered me anything of any use.

Therein lies the difference between my bride and I; the question I ask when looking for clothes is 'are they fit for purpose?' Not so Mrs M who assures me that she looks at the bigger picture.

I realise at times like this that it is pointless arguing so I agreed to so order my wardrobe knowing too well that I would forget the next time I come to hang up the nicely ironed clothes.

I asked Mrs M why none of her many clothes would suit our upcoming conference. I didn't word it like this of course; that would imply a certain amount of sarcasm.

At this point she gave me lots of information that seemed, in her world at least, to sound rational. All I remember was that the black trousers weren't the right kind of black and that most of her outfits would be no use if the weather turned warmer.

After nodding my sympathetic agreement I put my shirts and trousers in the case; never once did I question their colour or suitability for warm weather.