Any teacher will tell you we are emotionally, physically and mentally spent after this crazy school year.  

I told Michelle that I wish there was an island we could be sent to for about six weeks, perhaps one in which we had to run a boat rental place or something like that. Most of us are wanting some type of escape to recharge a bit.  We want life to be low maintenance for a while.

A day or two after the school year was officially over, I felt like I was sitting catatonic in my living room chair, contemplating how to make things as easy as possible this summer.

Usually, I start with my summer wardrobe. Guys will tell you we don’t have much to choose from, and our criteria for wearing clothing consists of a smell test and a wrinkle test. If the piece of clothing smells reasonably OK and if you feel like sitting and moving around will dissipate the wrinkles, guys are good to put the clothing on. My wife will not smell my clothing for me, nor will she judge the wrinkles. I know better than to ask her for anything like that.

Much of my summer is spent catching up on projects around the house that I have neglected during the school year. This almost always involves dirt, mulch, work gloves, and always paint of some kind.  

Therefore, my go-to wardrobe in the summer is a series of beat-up T-shirts and comfortable shorts or blue jeans with grass stains and deteriorated belt loops.  I sometimes walk on the wild side and wear an old ball cap or even a bandana on my head. This helps me avoid combing my hair.

Having summer appointments where I have to look reasonably decent makes me crabby. I try to do as little as possible when I’m getting ready, and I really hate having to pick out any clothes to “dress up.”  School teachers have to look reasonably professional with ironed and matching clothing, plus we have to wear dress shoes and belts and smell relatively OK.  By June, many of us are over it.

Therefore, I have about three  summer “out and about” outfits that are primed and ready. The shirt is usually a button-down shirt with material that does not require ironing.  Dressy shorts, also non-wrinkly or blue jeans. I get really crabby if I have to wear dress pants.  These outfits are reserved for having to go out to eat or to a doctor’s appointment or something. I try to avoid all those things as much as possible, by the way.

Since I reluctantly shower before I get ready to go somewhere,  my dress-up clothes stay clean longer, and I quickly change out of them when I get back home. I figure they are good for several more outings.

When it’s time to go somewhere public, I give the fancy clothes the smell test, and when the outfit reaches its expiration date and smells too manly, I exchange it for a new model.  So, most folks will see me in the same clothes when I’m out and about.  

I doubt anyone is paying that much attention, nor do I give a flying hoot.

Most guys who work around the house over the summer will back me up on this, as well as admitting to that smell test.  

I’m telling you, it’s a thing.

My choice thing to do if I have to run to Home Depot or uptown is to jam a ball cap on my head and possibly change my T-shirt to something less alarming.  My plan is to speed around town, do my errands, and get back home to my hermit paradise.

I ran into a couple of folks at the grocery store (a place I hate) one day when I had a questionable outfit on, and a lady said “Are you doing alright?”  This was a weird question, I thought, but maybe she thought I didn’t smell very good.  

When I got out to the car, I noticed I had a big greasy looking stain on the side of my T-shirt in addition to a rip in my sleeve.

Maybe she thought I’d fallen on hard times.

So I have my summer “uniforms” and, as I write this today, am getting ready to go get a  haircut. I just told Michelle I’m thinking of getting my head shaved, and she looked at me with the same look she gives me when I say “Do you think this shirt smells OK?”

But I may shave it anyway. No amount of dirty looks can deter me from the feeling of freedom from summer grooming.