My husband Calvin recently got a new suit. When he tried it on for me, he was discussing which ties he should wear with the suit. Apparently, a new tie would be best, but he’d settle for one he already owned. I pointed out that he probably was unaware of how many ties he had that would match the suit because his ties were a jumble. I suggested there could be less tie chaos if he disposed of superfluous ties. Out of 31 ties, surely some were unnecessary.
We then discussed which ties were superfluous. He mentioned the neon blue tie. I agreed that it was extraneous (secretly hoping said tie could be tossed into the garbage). He said it was superfluous only because I hated it—he liked it. I told him it looked like a tie that would be worn in South Central Los Angeles. He said that gang members didn’t wear ties. Hmmm. That’s probably true. I changed the subject.
Next we came to the Jackson Pollock muted. Basically it’s a blackish tie with random splotches of gray and white. I said, “This one goes.” Cal said, “Absolutely.” I dropped the tie into the trash can next to his desk.
Cal said: Why did you do that?
Me: Because “it goes” into the trash.
Cal: I meant “it goes” with the suit, i.e. it matches.
Me, non-plussed: Oh, sorry. (I made no move to retrieve the tie.)
Cal retrieved it.
We ended up not getting rid of a single tie. Sigh. I think Cal’s a tie hoarder. I’ve only ever been able to get rid of three ties (in 22 years of marriage). One was a knit tie from the early eighties—scary. The other was a faux stained glass window tie (a gift) and the third tie was Christmas themed and had a button that when pushed would play “We wish you a Merry Christmas.” (Even Cal could see the wisdom in getting rid of that tie.) That’s three ties out of 34. I wonder if there’s twelve step program for tie hoarding...