Fashion Choices Expressed in This Post are NOT a Reflection of the Blogger, Herself

My husband has a problem and this time, I'm not even claiming it is a "hypothetical" issue. I constantly live in fear that the police could arrest him at any moment.

The fashion police, that is.

Now, if you have seen my handsome hubby out and about, you might think I'm blowing things out of proportion. But let me give you a little history behind this problem before you make any snap judgements, keeping in mind that Jesus commands us to speak the truth in love, and all.

It began in early 2001, (or at least that's when I became aware of the problem) with the ugliest camouflage pants ever known to man. To make matters worse, they seemed to make appearances at the most inappropriate times, including but not limited to church services, dinner at nice restaurants and even a wedding or two. So who could blame me if I "might have" thrown them out behind hubby's back upon returning from our honeymoon?

And so began the top secret mission of slowly weeding out his wardrobe.

So you can imagine my dismay when the same hideous camo pants of '01 reappeared in hubby's wardrobe as cut-off shorts in '03. Turns out, it took him 2 years to work up the nerve to reveal he had been on a little secret rescue mission of his own.

In contrast to the problem of sporting sub-par clothing while attending classy functions, he also suffers with the other extreme of fashion discernment (or lack there of, as the case may be).

Now, I'm no expert on yard work, but it seems to me that collared shirts and dress shoes might be a tad too much for mowing the lawn. Or when playing basketball, for that matter. Sadly, I am telling the truth. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried, folks.

And although my initial reaction was simply to do away with anything purchased before the marriage vows were exchanged, these last 5 years have taught me that I'm dealing with a much more severe situation than I originally assessed.

The problem is not that hubby has no style. It is that husband has no knowledge of when and where it is appropriate to display said style. So, even when the closet is fully stocked with articles of clothing I deem completely appropriate, they are often worn in a manner that makes me cringe and repeat to myself,

"My husband's fashion choices are not a reflection of me."

But a girl must draw the line when he passes his transgressions on to the next generation. As I sit and type this post, Chris and Park are currently down the street, playing in a large pile of dirt together, fully clothed in their Sunday best.

And, as I hear the sirens getting closer, I find myself repeating, "The fashion choices that my husband and son make are not a reflection of me."

But on the bright side, maybe the police will confiscate the camo shorts (and lock them up for good!)