Me knows better than to say this... but I will. In continuation of the sweatshirt issue, Jimmy ran across an issue while trying to hang my jacket in the coat closet and not finding 1) an available hanger and 2) any available slot to squeeze just one more coat into the double sized closet. What in the... world is going on here?
I quickly deduced that my wife had too many coats and we needed to pare this down a bit. If I needed to get rid of some old sweatshirt, she should at least part with a coat or five. So to prove a valuable point in the logic war, I decided to get an accurate inventory of the situation. One, two... fifteen, sixteen... twenty-one, twenty-two. Twenty- two coats! How many coats does one woman need!
Since I was sure that a comparison would be asked, I decided to trump that argument with my total. I was sure I was as low as single digits and maybe ten or eleven at most. One, two... ten, eleven... Hey I finally found that golf pullover I was missing... twelve, thirteen. At twenty I counted my pastel blue tennis jacket purchased twenty-five years ago. I have't played tennis in at least twenty-two years and at some point I converted it into my oil changing jacket. However I haven't changed my own oil in at least twenty years. But I hung onto it since I was sure that pastel blue would come back into vogue for the third time... shortly I am sure. Thirty, thirty-one, and finally the last one nuzzled up against the wall number - thirty-two. It was my good ski jacket which hasn't fit Jimmy in fifteen years... But I'm sure I'll lose that thirty pounds by winter so I better hang onto it.
Well I may have to save the point about too many jackets for another time. Please, no one tell my wife. I'm sure she will never read about it in the blog so (in Pig Latin) ixnay on the acketjay.
