As Father’s Day approached this year, I had no fear. Unlike many years, when I had no clue what I could give my gift-averse husband, I thought I had the gift thing in the bag. This was no easy trick. Longtime readers will be familiar with the occasional column in which I work out my frustration at buying clothing for my husband, only to have to return the shirt/jacket/pants because the man insisted that “he didn’t need it” or found it not quite to his taste. I suppose it’s very nice to have such an unmaterialistic husband, one who sees the good in everyone and even in every item in his closet. This has forced me to point out frayed collars and shirts that have grown as sheer as flimsy gauze after thousands of washings.

Do you have any idea what sort of Herculean self-control it took for me not to chortle out loud and spit my seltzer across the room when my husband called to report that he had split his pants bending over at a job site? He had not outgrown the pants, but the pants had announced their retirement at an inopportune moment. I value my marriage too much to have said, “Serves you right!” but don’t think I wasn’t tempted. So what did he do? He untucked his shirt to cover up and kept working. Though frankly, I’m surprised that no one asked him where he bought the pants. Few things are more trendy today than brand new clothes that look like they’ve been through the shredder. They cost twice what clothes that are still materially intact cost. We are too old-fashioned to think giant air vents in our clothing are going to be a flattering look for either of us. More…

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