Another Visit to My Mental Clothing Store

I sit at my desk in my “morning clothes” (t-shirt, gym shorts, flip-flops), thinking these clothes should be perfectly acceptable any time of the day or night and in any place I find myself. They should be just fine at the grocery store, at church, sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, whatever. In fact, I wore essentially the same outfit (different shirt of a different color, and tennis shoes instead of flip-flops) yesterday morning (I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m.; I am grateful to my dear friend for the ride to and from the visit) as I waited to be called back for my cystoscopy and bladder biopsy.

Once I was called back to begin the process, I was instructed to remove every stitch of clothing and to replace them with a gown; the right side of the gown’s shoulder area had snaps that formed an arm-hole, but the snaps on the left side were not closed. Try as I might, I could not form the proper left-side arm-hole. Fortunately, a guy came in shortly afterward to take my vitals; he snapped the left shoulder properly so I could slip on the gown and tie it, as earlier instructed, at the rear.

I have an idea for hospital pre-admission visits, like the one last week when I submitted to blood-letting and other pre-procedure tests and questions: why not give the patient a gown to take home with them? They could put on the gown before leaving for the next hospital visit, saving the embarrassment of hurriedly fumbling with snaps in an effort to be properly covered before the pre-procedure stabbings begin.

Once again, I swerved sharply from my intended lane this morning; I intended to write about comfortable all-purpose clothing and, instead, veered into the vagaries of hospital gowns. Mea culpa.

I have long been fascinated with various forms of Asian men’s clothing: tunic shirts, dashiki shirts, churidar pyjamas and lungi pants (both of which are comfortable-looking pants) and kurta (shirts), the latter three of the Indian subcontinent. I’ve never owned any of them, in part because I do not know where to buy them and, even if I did, I could not be sure that I was ordering the proper size. That is, a size that will comfortably drape over my overly-ample stomach. Also, my arms of unnaturally short, so the sleeve length would be problematic. The same is true for the length of pants legs; my legs begin far closer to the ground (or, conversely, end to soon before reaching the torso) than clothing manufacturers seem to think appropriate. I could, of course, have a tailor alter my clothes, but the expense of modification would probably compete favorably with custom-tailored clothes. That is an idea I’ve played with, seriously, for quite some time. Not seriously enough, of course. I’ve toyed with the concept of buying and learning to use a sewing machine, too. Again, I’ve stopped short of executing the ideas.

As I consider the desirability of simple outfits that ought to work in any setting (the t-shirts, gym shorts, flip-flops combos), I wonder about whether investing in custom-tailored lungis and tunics and kurtas and so forth makes good economic sense. Probably not. But, then, are my “morning clothes” as all-day, anywhere wear going to catch on? Probably not. It has considerably better chance of catching on than does my wish that societal condemnation of public nudity would disappear.

One positive aspect of the COVID-19 pandemic is that I am spending far more time at home, where I can wear my “morning clothes” far frequently than normal. But, as I venture out more and more (but still with social distancing and wearing my mask), I am forced (make that strongly encouraged) to wear clothes that are more constricting, less comfortable, and are considered more socially acceptable than my morning wear. Oh, well.

If I were reading this post, I would question why, if I’m so enamored of nudity, I wear “morning clothes” at home. Good question. The answer is simple: windows. I like to let the light in. There’s a window high about the front door through which people driving down the street above our house can see into the house clearly. I do not want to be responsible for auto crashes involving distracted drivers.

Tomorrow, I have out-of-house obligations that will require me to shed my “morning clothes” in favor of  clothing socially-suited to interactions with humans outside my household. Then, on Thursday, other humans will visit here, again requiring me to wear more socially-acceptable clothing. Ach. It’s a shame we cannot all be casual in the extreme. But, then, I wrote not long ago how I occasionally desire a more “spiffy” look, with traditional slacks, a shirt with buttons, and a stylish blazer jacket. There’s room for everything, I suppose. It’s the frequency, then, that’s of concern. That’s it. Maybe.

Before I leave my John-focused comfort conversation, I should say I have seen a number of memes on Facebook of late that say, in effect, that COVID-19 has allowed women the rare comfort of spending entire days, even weeks, at home in bra-less comfort. I’ll go on record, here and now, to say I think brassieres seem to be designed to minimize a women’s comfort and, therefore, should be abandoned (if that would suit women, of course…I don’t wear a bra and, therefore, don’t have a dog in this hunt). Of course, certain types of bras, like sports bras, if they actually add to a woman’s comfort, would be perfectly fine. At any rate, the acceptability of the social convention of bras for women should be determined by the wearer.

All right, that’s enough. It’s 7:30 and time for thoughts to turn to breakfast.