Let me tell you a story about my fashion-conscience dog.

My Dad was going to a BBQ/church retreat this past Sunday and was waiting around in his church clothes for his ride to arrive. He chose to go a little more casual this weekend and wore a Hawaiin shirt, nice khaki pants, dress shoes, and dress socks. When his ride showed up, everyone was in shorts! And why wouldn't they be? It was 90+ degrees with Virginia Beach humidity, so it felt like 105 degrees and you were wearing a wet washcloth over your face. He ran up to change into shorts, and came downstairs with the statement, "Rachael, I need your opinion." He walked over in his fancy dress socks and put his dress shoes on. I cringed. He asked me, "Do you think this is okay?" and was being completely serious. My dad is a bit challenged when it comes to dressing himself--even after 55 years of practice-- and I told him the truth.

"Dad," I said, "That doesn't look good at all."

He pulled his socks up to his knees in response. I shook my head. "Alright, so what should I wear?" I suggested he should not wear dress socks or dress shoes, and he agreed. "I'll go get my white sneakers, then." I thought that was the end of it and went back to my homework.

Within two minutes he was coming down the stairs. "I couldn't find my white sneakers," he began, "so I want you to tell me how you feel about these." He strode past the couch into my line of sight and stood triumphantly, arms akimbo, at what he thought was a conquering of the closet. Waffle, who had been sitting next to me this whole time, sat up. We both stared at Dad.

I looked at the white socks at the bottom of his knees, then at the odd, mahogany boot or boot-like-object hugging his mid-calf. I looked at him, then his socks, then back to the boots. Was he kidding? Could he have put those atrocious booties on in jest, or was he asking this question in all seriousness? The air quickly grew thick with tension. I wanted to tell him that what he was wearing was atrocious, was grotesque, was awful...! But, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I opened my mouth, unsure of what would come out. Then, it happened.

Before I could make a sound, Waffle looked at Dad's feet and growled. I couldn't have said it better myself. A growl perfectly summed up this situation.

After a good few minutes of laughter, Dad went over to the stairs and pulled his sneakers over. So, I thought, it was a joke. And Waffle played along wonderfully.