When I was small child, my clothing refused to match. And try as she might, my mother was unable to get me to wear anything that might remotely coordinate. Apparently, I was a quiet but stubborn child. I must have been a formidable 4 year old.
Rather than have daily battles over clothing, my mom came up with a unique solution: buy me all blue clothing. My wardrobe is still remarkably blue.
I don't blame her for it, because as an adult, when I actually WANT to match, I still don't match that well. I don't know how many times I'll visit the homestead, or a female member of the family will be visiting, and I'll hear (along with the sound of a suppressed laugh): "You know that doesn't match, don't you?" I heard this most recently when I was wearing some green camo cargo shorts and an light orange shirt. (Before you cringe, let me defend myself by saying that it was Saturday.)
Fine, I'll admit it, I'm totally clothing impaired. Add to that my general loathing of shopping, and you'd think that I wander around dressed like a John Cusack in "Better Off Dead" or a cast member from "Revenge of the Nerds". Fortunately, those same women who point out that I don't match also come to my rescue. For the last few years, clothing is the only gift for which I've asked, and they're king enough to oblige. It's not that I lack the means to shop, but I certainly lack the skill -- the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, if you will. And though I know they're sick of trying to find things that match taste while being reasonably hip, my sisters and mom have been diligent in keep my wardrobe updated. They're also try not to act too surprised when I happen to by something moderately fashionable on my own.
So, props to all those women everywhere that make sure the shoes match the belt, that white socks are never worn with slacks, and that Weezer t-shirts are only worn while mowing the lawn. I hope that whoever I marry is ready for this obligation.