On Fashion and Trophy Dating (and camoflauged man purses)

My friends and I were having a discussion over a few cheap beers and we came to this conclusion: Never date a man that wears cargo shorts.

The upstanding man at the table relented that the cargo short was not in his fashion repertoire.

"I didn't even know they still made them," Ali stated with both awe and concern. I like to think of her as Alley because I have to ride my bike down an alleyway as my most direct route to her house. But, I digress. 

This is the second unflattering reference to cargo shorts I have had in as many days. While sitting at Mod's on 5th and Boston and waiting for my delicious salmon sesame seed crepe, I was reading the daily funny pages. The cartoon was an old couple talking. It went like this:

Old lady: "Are those cargo shorts?"

Old Man: "Yes. They are amazing. They have all these wonderful pockets where you can keep all your stuff."

Old Lady: "I see. So basically you are wearing a giant purse."

Follow me, dear readers, as I attempt to anthropologize the reasoning behind our newly found dating rule. Let us make a study of the cargo short wearing man:

Cargo's were originally designed for outdoor activities and military needs. The extra pocket space was required to carry items necessary for the wearer's survival and well being. Manly indeed.

But, when you take them out of the war zone and into the arena of your local shopping mall or restaurant they are as the old lady said--nothing but man purses disguised as yuppy fashion.

We pontificated on the type of man who needs a purse but wants to disguise it in such manly camouflage.

This man is nothing more than a pretty boy. He needs the extra pocket room to carry his chap stick, little black book, and extra sand for his ever chaffing vadge.

He has a lot of buddies, but not a lot of friends. Surface is as far as he goes. It is all about paint and polish and glamour for this man-purse wearing fashionisto.

He and his buddies all have nicknames (taken usually from their last names) that they earned at the Frat house in college. When not using their nicknames, they call each other, "dude" or "bro."

Inevitably they date the simple blonde girls. I am a cute little blondey so I have run into more than my fair share of the "dudes." Thankfully they usually run for the hills when they discover that under the trophy wife exterior, I actually have a brain in my head. All it takes is a few moments of conversation and a 3 syllable word.

They'll move along to talk to an actual tropy wife. And, so will I--to someone with whom I can discuss the latest book I have read or art exhibit I have seen. Everybody wins. Everybody is happy in the end.

Sometimes I guess you can judge a book by its cover. Or in this case ... a dude by his man purse.