Just as sure as the seasons, the colors and styles of ties change like fall changes leaves.
My tie rack runneth over with relics, like the wide swaths of multi-colored cloth with a picture of Batman on it, right next to the one with a likeness of Garfield the Cat.
I've never worn these. Ties, I contend, should be seen and not read.
I've seen ties displaying parts of Scrabble boards. Others have life-like pictures of famous people who have given so much to society, like Lisa Marie Presley and Lady GaGa. Whatever became of Britney Spears?
Others are beyond description, with many headache-inducing geometric designs in gosh-awful ganglions of color that would make your toes curl.
These are what the designers of the hey, look at me generation are coming up with for adults. Some of today's ties are nightmares that would make a train take a dirt road-and I think I saw a tie of a train on a dirt road just yesterday at church.
The flower children of the 1960s have apparently all grown up and decided to get rich designing neck cloths that today is the politically correct reference to today's ties.
Ties are currently sorta tied up in a debate about the trend for men to wear what they call business casual clothing, which means the tie is no where to be seen.
Ties have always been a mystery to me. What are they for? What is their function?
Did some ruler in merry old England, chowing down in a chilly castle, wrap a colorful cloth around his neck to catch the roast beef drippings and slobbers? Probably.
Ties do serve a couple of functions, I suppose. You can use them for portable napkins and handkerchiefs, and they are hanging indicators of the age of the wearer.
You can tell when a fellow is getting on by the profusion and type of stains on his portable napkin.
His eyesight is failing and he thinks that bit of egg yoke down there by his tie tack is just part of what he bought for $1.50 shortly after the war.
The Wall Street Journal blamed the rash of nasty-looking ties on former President Bill Clinton. He set the stage with what has become Washington's power tie. It was red for the longest time, but now has switched to something pinkish going on to bluish.
Possibly led by the Washington tie elitists, the price of a tie has gone through the ceiling, too. We're talking $60 or $70 for a few feet of material.
Since retiring and leaving a job that required I wear a tie, I've pretty much lost interest in neckwear. I seldom wear one now.
My vast collection hangs limp and unappreciated in my closet, swaying gently in the wind as reminders of days gone by.
And there are reminders of a few pretty good meals eaten along the way, too, I might add.
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