This could be a post about how the Service Dress the Air Force is adopting look like something designed by the staff of Emperor Palpatine for the pilots of his TIE Fighters to wear on Victory Parade Day.
But it's not.
It could also be a post about now we narrowly avoided having to buy hubby BDUs that were patterned blue and gray, making the wearer resemble a Battle Smurf (or, if a beret is added to the mix, making the wearer look French).
But it's not.
Because this is a post about how having a job with uniform requirements since 1993 has affected my husband.
The effects have been far reaching and very scary. First of all, the man can't match clothing to save his life. We use what we like to refer to as "The Garanimals System" for hubby's non-uniform clothing. That is to say that I have labeled each pair of pants he owns (except for jeans which match with nearly everything) on the waistband with A, B, C, D and so on.
The tail of all his shirts then have corresponding marks. For instance, a shirt tail might have an A, C, D on it - which means that he can wear that shirt with any of those three pairs of pants.
This system came into use in our house the day hubby went TDY and was told in utter horror by one of the females on his team, "Sir, do you realize that you are wearing green pants and a red shirt and it's not Christmas season?"
We have not been able to figure out how to add ties into the Garanimals system, so he has a specific tie for each shirt.
The inability to match clothing has not been the only thing sacrificed to the Uniform Gods. Hubby now seems to have an insatiable need to "match" people. Specifically me, to my everlasting horror. Hubby delights in wearing clothing that matches what I am wearing. If I put on jeans and a white t-shirt hubby will end up similarly clad. It can get very embarrassing, particularly when it is glaringly obviously planned. I've noticed that when hubby manages to align the planets and star systems and we go out of the house dressed alike in logoed sweatshirts and jeans or khakis people actually step across the street to avoid us. They probably think we are Scientologists out on a recruiting mission.
I've become very sensitive to this, in an attempt to retain a bit of my individuality. I will wait to dress until the last minute before we leave. Even in this, though, hubby recently managed to defeat me. Very quietly and with little fanfare, he told me when we got in the car that he had forgotten his work cell phone.
I should have been suspicious.
He came out of the house holding his phone with his jacket zipped up and we were off. When we were too far down the road for me to jump out of the car and run home to change, hubby unzipped to reveal a red sweater of a hue that matched my red turtleneck almost exactly. It was so obvious that even the waitress at Don Pablos commented on our choice of matching outfit.
Maybe I should just give up and wear my own set of BDUs.
