The Architect focuses heavily on tops, and pays rather less attention to his legwear. In winter he chooses from black pants or black pants, exchanged for blue jeans or blue jeans on weekends.
In summer he wears black pants or black pants, exchanged for blue shorts on the weekend. But when I say 'blue shorts' I mean 'blue shorts, singular', because the man has a single pair of shorts. He has 20 zillion t-shirts in a trillion different styles, from plain white to The Dharma Initiative logo, but so busy is he purchasing tees for his massive collection that he has no time to cover his arse.
His one pair of shorts is an utter disgrace, bringing shame on our entire family. It is threadbare in the crotch and has a back pocket hanging off by the seams, and both legs are fraying at the knees. What's more, the front pockets have holes, so he is unable to carry money, which is fine as he'd just spend it on t-shirts.
It makes me crazy that The Architect only has one pair of shorts, and that other people can see his undies. It makes me especially crazy because his undies are also threadbare, but that, my friends, is another story. Still, the shorts were once nice, so the shame is solely in the upkeep, as opposed to bad taste, for which there is no excuse.
And speaking of 'no excuse', I come to the real problem, which is The Architect's Horrid Top. Yes, The Architect has many magnificent clothes, and he rarely gets it wrong. But no-one is infallible, not even my husband, and in recent times he has erred in the extreme.
My husband has a Horrid Top, and it is a long sleeved fawn knit tee. Yes people, you heard it right, it is a fawn knit tee, and I choke on the words as I write them.
There is nothing worse than long sleeve fawn, you think to yourself, but I assure you, you think very wrong. The long sleeve fawn knit has elbow pads to boot in a nasty, fake black leather. It is the most horrid thing you have ever seen, and The Architect will not give it up.
I hate the Horrid Top, and I have tried to convince The Architect to bin it, but The Architect has a mind of his own. And though I have tried to stamp it out of him, after 14 long years of marriage, he still clings to his self-determination. So I have resorted to the only thing I know how to do, and I have done it without a moment of doubt.
I have hidden the Horrid Top in a cupboard in the laundry, until such time as The Architect forgets about it. And if he doesn't forget it, if he asks after it some time, then I have absolutely no idea where it is.
Although... I do recall seeing something like it in the pocket of his shorts one day.... Perhaps the fawn knit fell out when he was out? Those bloody shorts, I'm so sorry about that. Do you think it's time to buy another pair?