I grew up in a house two doors away from my elementary school. I highly recommend this, if you can swing it. It was awesome. In fifth grade everyone in town had to go to the bigger school that was attached to the junior high — too far to go home for lunch — so I started bringing my lunch for the first time.
Not known for having spontaneity, adventurousness, or an exotic palate, the only thing I would eat for lunch was a chicken loaf sandwich, made by my mother, with Miracle Whip, on honey-wheat bread. Pretty much every day. For years. Like my role-model Harriet the Spy, who ate a tomato sandwich for lunch every day, I knew what I liked. I didn't care what anyone else was having. I didn't covet or trade. You could suggest other things to me and I would ignore you. Occasionally, my sisters and I got one of those deep, dark chocolate Hostess cupcakes with the white curlycue icing, and I wouldn't ever say no to one of those. (And for a while, I did go through an egg-salad-sandwich phase, but having an egg-salad sandwich sitting in your locker for four hours, alerting everyone in the entire school to the contents of your brown bag, prompting many, many people to enter the seventh grade hallway and say, "What REEKS???" proved more than my feeble social standing could handle. So I went back to my chicken loaf until high school [where for four years all I and every single other person I knew would only eat cafeteria chocolate-chip cookies (which, if you went to OPRFHS, you know were totally awesome)] and Diet Cokes. And occasionally cheese fries from Tasty Dog).
And, when asked "What on earth IS chicken loaf?" my only answer is, "Exactly."
But anyway, where are we going here. Oh yeah. I think my preference for chicken loaf was similar to Andy Paulson's preference for the plaid Western shirt from Goodwill. Pretty much the only thing you will ever see him wear, besides scrubs, or an occasional t-shirt. For years, skinny plaid shirts. Every time I post a photo of him, people ask if he is wearing the same shirt he was wearing the last time I took his picture. I wasn't sure myself, so decided to find out how many plaids he actually has, all based on chronologic photographic evidence over only the last year, almost to the day. Let's count.
1. Red flannel. Very pilled.
2. Brown Pendleton. Moth holes.
3. Brown and blue.
4. Navy and blue flannel.
5. Preppy plaid. A summer shirt, really.
6. #2. Clover!!! Mmmmwah.
7. California Highway Patrol shirt. Man, that 'stache was . . . Ne'ermind. Clover!!!!!
8. Red cotton plaid. Howdy, pardner!
9. Oooo, cherries! I mean
"red, white, and black plaid." California Highway Patrol. And mother-of-pearl snaps, always good.
10. The summer blue plaid. I like this one.
11. Red plaid. Different from the county fair one, I think.
13. This looks like #9, but I actually think it's a different one.
14. Oh please. No one's looking at the shirt in this one, are they? No.
16. Black and gray plaid. And another sweet little thing.
17. He even has a plaid coat. Which was his dad's. I tried to steal it.
You would too, it's that cool.
Conclusion: The man loves his plaid. Is it any wonder why I would try to woo him with my super plaid wonder dress???