As we get
older, we fade. The hair goes white, if it even hangs around at all.
Skin pales as we avoid the sun out of concern that we don't want to
finance a new boat for the dermatologist. Women have makeup to color
in the lines. Their lips and nails can pop with 1,000 different
shades, new hair colors are available to reflect any whim. But men
become translucent. Sometimes I feel like little more than a walking
pair of pants and shirt. My reflection in a glass storefront is
almost headless, just a puff of ghost smoke clouded around my collar.
And that's why old guys wear loud shirts. They color us in and
reflect our spirit much more accurately than our half-life bodies. So
I was happy to get this new shirt from Carla. It helps to convey my
spirit of “I'm old but my give-a-shit-level is so low that it may
be best for you if you don't try to push my buttons” at least
that's what I hope my loud shirt says. In reality it's probably
asking for directions to the nearest bathroom.
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