Rhymes With Orange

Even though I hadn’t expected such cold weather in San Francisco, I had planned on buying a sweatshirt there anyway (all the sweats I own seemed to be really worn and frayed and, in the case of the pants, on their last legs). Perhaps I could find a thick, but soft, garment with some cunning local SF logo that I could show off on the streets of Gotham this winter.

Everywhere we went I fingered various garments, sometimes even in stores, and then we hit upon the official San Francisco Giants baseball team outlet in the Embarcadero Center. Even though I haven’t been a fan of the Giants since the blast and bloat of Barry Bonds, it seemed somehow fitting (XL) and, instead of my usual black or blue selection I opted (perhaps a lifestyle adjustment) for orange. When I got it home I dutifully put it through a cold-wash cycle and air dried it so it would maintain its color. It’s a brilliant orange and I like it a lot. Okay, wise-person, it’s true: when I wear it I look like a walking Sunkist orange, especially when I'm wearing my green sweatpants and brown socks. But so what? Squeeze me; tease me and sneeze on me with your sarcastic kisses, I’m wearing it anyway. I also bought a t-shirt from the San Francisco Fish Company (at their store in the Ferry Building) because I like their logo. They sell fish. They didn’t have a sweatshirt.