Tom Gelwicks, Cincinnati Attorney

I’m standing in my underwear before my closet. What do I wear to a writing workshop with folks I’ve never met?

Dressy slacks with my $250 soft-leather loafers? They’ll know I’m to be taken seriously. No, pretentious.

Let’s see: these torn jeans with my well-worn Reds T-shirt, what I wore last weekend, to pull weeds? No, Barb will regret she invited me. The others will think I don’t take myself seriously — or them.

So I compromise — my old, black, reliable Levis. Relaxed fit but not sloppy. Clean but decidedly casual. And then this — my Joseph Bank orange and white checkered shirt. Worn only once before. Crisp and sharp, but projecting no attempt at announcing my rank in society. Nice-looking but not socially grasping.

And the shoes, old Merrill loafers that send a “comfort must prevail” message.

I enter the kitchen and my wife Beth gives me the usual look-over before I head for the door. She offers no sartorial instruction, which she often freely bestows. Beth says, “Hope your day is an interesting one — can’t wait to hear about it.”