I admit it, I love clothes. I really do. I read fashion blogs and follow fashionistas on Twitter. I have more shirts, slacks, and sweaters than my wife. That doesn’t bode well considering that they take up more space in our closet than I was “allotted.” My chest of drawers needs an annex to store my tee shirts and pullovers. And jeans, forget it. Let's just say AG Jeans is having a banner year. When I walk into Nordstrom's the sales help prostrate themselves at my feet, salivating at the thought of a juicy commission. And shoes, don't even get me started.
So a recent visit to Boston found me at the North Shore Mall in Peabody, Massachusetts. I had just cleaned out Nordstrom’s, or maybe Nordstrom’s just cleaned out my wallet, and was browsing the mall, when lo and behold, there stood another favorite store of mine; Banana Republic. So I waltz in and spot this really handsome sweater on the front table. It was sort of a grey pullover with a variety of muted patterns on it. It really caught my eye. It screamed, “Buy me Barry. You need to take me home.” Well, who can argue with that, right? Fall is here and I only have seven sweaters. I needed another one, or three, or perhaps five. I lovingly picked it up and held it to my chest. Looks awesome. I get a large and go to the dressing room. Hmmm. Little tight. I go back and get an extra large. That’s it. My wife says, “Wow that looks great on you. Buy it. We just won't tell anyone it's a woman's sweater!” WAIT! WHAT? The display was covered in woman's clothing. How could I not see that? The manikin had boobs and nail polish for crying out loud! How did that not register in mind? Talk about right church wrong pew. How about great sweater, wrong gender.
That one slight detail was pretty much the deal breaker. Now I realize the world is changing. You want to wear woman’s clothing? Fine. Knock yourself out. I’m just not too interested in joining the club. That sweater could have been my introduction to the world of cross dressing. I mean you don't just wake up some morning and decide to raid your wife's closet and fashionably go off to work. It starts out innocently enough with a sweater. What's next, lacy bikini underwear? A thong? What if I threw caution to the wind and bought it anyway. Then I would be mortified to walk into a restaurant and see a woman wearing the same sweater. Yeah, that would go over big. How can I ever explain that one? “Oh,” I would say, “My wife picked this up for me at Good Will.” I don't think so. I just can't imagine getting dressed in the morning and casually asking my wife, “Does this sweater make my ass look fat?”