I like Hugo Boss, my hubby likes Hawaiian shirts. I like to match my socks with my outfit, Mr. Neise will wear plaids with stripes ( just to annoy me). I like new clothes, Greg likes worn out shirts with holes, stains, and frayed edges.My husband breaks out in hives in a clothing store, and requires a stiff drink after escaping a fitting room. Ironically, he worked high end retail for many years and excelled in sales. Alas, I realize he was single back then, and working the hottie scene.

Eventually, like a victim of water-boarding, I cave in to his horrible sense of style. Now, when he greets me at the door after a long day at the studio, and I see him dressed in a clown outfit, I don’t even flinch. He’s happy, comfortable and super cute. He’s not going to wear True Religion jeans–ever–because Greg really does have his own sense of style and it’s not manufactured.

It all goes back to that old saying, “If you can’t beat em’ join em.” I can’t believe it’s happened, but I actually help supply and stock Greg’s wardrobe. Whenever I see an offensive Hawaiian shirt, I buy it. THIS IS LOVE folks, the real stuff, not some fairy tale. I used to feel that Hawaiian shrits were only appropriate for tiki parties and pig roasts. I guess I was kind of wrong and even sort of snobby.

I mean, who am I to judge? If I piled all of Greg’s shirts up, I could possibly create a volcano and that would be fun, but I won’t go there. Instead, I’ll head over to Target where I can anticipate the Missoni line and grab my hubby another horrible shirt to add to his fabulous collection!