If you should meet my husband sometime soon, please know that I did not dress him.
I know the stupid khaki jacket he’s wearing has seen better days.
I know it’s missing a button and that its collar, cuffs and waistband are fraying. I’m well aware that the elbows are no longer khaki despite my best efforts with Shout and Tide.
What’s more, Basil knows all this, too. Yet he persists in wearing the jacket.
Even the idiotic Ralph Lauren polo player on the left side of the chest is embarrassed.
You should know the jacket is Basil’s favorite — and apparently far superior to the newer, un-frayed jackets hanging in the closet.
Despite my entreaties to throw it out, he clings to it with a Linus-like fervor.
“I wouldn’t throw out something of yours,” he said hotly when I brought the subject up again tonight.
“Besides, how much of my stuff have you thrown out already?!”
Apparently, not enough.