My reasoning, after the jump:
Yesterday I had the pleasure of eating lunch with Wick and some of our fine friends from CBS 11. Among them was Tom Doerr, the station’s news director. As we took our seats at Al Biernat’s, Wick noticed Tom’s natty attire–lilac-colored shirt with French cuffs, matching lilac polka-dot tie, handsome blazer–and said, “Look at this guy. He looks great. Tim, how come you can’t come to work looking like that?”
I said, “Give me half his salary. I promise to come to work in French cuffs every day.” (I was doing Banana Republic. Brown wool slacks, purple vertical stripe dress shirt, no tie.)
And then Tom told us his secret: his wife Gail lays out his clothes for him every day. Actually, every night, so they’re ready to go in the morning. We were all duly impressed. Such a thoughtful woman, this Gail. I’ve met her, too. She’s charming, witty, easy on the eyes.
But Tom wasn’t done sharing secrets. “And every Wednesday night,” he said, “when I come home, she’s waiting for me in the garage with a cocktail. She hands me the cocktail. I go inside. And then she takes my car and goes and fills up the gas tank. Every Wednesday.”
Stunned silence settled over the table. I wanted to stand and clap. For Gail, not for Tom. Because he certainly doesn’t deserve it.
Gail, if you’re reading this, you let me know if Tom ever fails to lavish you with the appreciation you so richly deserve. And if you’re wondering, I’m a size 42 long, and I drink gin and tonic.
