Greenport Maritime Festival

“I’m exhausted, John, but every piece of brass on the boat is shining. The new boat cushions look terrific and the new canvas will be here in time for the Maritime Celebration on the 25th. I love having a classic boat, but geez, the work....what are you wearing? I threw that out in Spring.”
“No, you TRIED to throw it out in Spring, Louise.”
“You pulled that out of the burn barrel! John, please.... you’ve had that shirt since you were 22. You’re 47 now, it pulls everywhere and it’s too short. Your hairy stomach shows.”
“It fits fine! It’s my lucky shirt. I caught my prize bass in this shirt. Remember that competition?”
“No, John, don’t start the bass competition story, please, I have to have time to organize Thanksgiving next month.”
“You had no right to throw out my lucky shirt, or my lucky shorts.”
“No - John- you didn’t fish out those shorts too! You can’t wear those OP short shorts hunny, I mean you really can’t.”
“I can still button them. I just skip the top button and hide it with my shirt.”
“No, my love, you can not wear those short shorts in public anymore, ever.”
“Worried about me? I’m a happily married man, I wouldn’t flirt. You don’t have to worry about somebody making a play for me in these shorts.”
“That’s truer than you know, but not for the reasons you think. John, have you ever seen the pictures of the ballroom in St. Patricks’s Cathedral in New York?”
“Can’t say I have - wait a minute.... there’s no ballroom in St Patrick’s Cathedral!”
“No dear, there isn’t. And that’s what your short shorts have in common with the Cathedral.”
“That’s low, Louise.”
“Many things are these days, John.”
“That bad? Really?”
“Remember when your Uncle George visited? Remember those green polyester shorts he loved because they were comfortable? Aunt Betty couldn’t get rid of them no matter what she did.”
“I remember, he looked like somebody put pants on a goat. Please don’t tell me I look that bad in my shorts.”
“Well, Uncle George’s shorts were at least Bermuda length, so there was no chance of anything escaping. The OP shorts are way too short. I get scarred every time you put them on.”
“I love these shorts. I’ve had them so long. It’s like giving up a friend.”
“We can frame them.”
“No, that’s stupid. We’ll bury them at sea during the festival. It’s the only proper way to dispose of boat shorts that have served so long.”
“And the shirt.”
“Shirt stays. Be happy I’m letting go of my lucky competition shorts.”
“Alright, one out of two ain’t bad. Give them to me, I’ll throw them in the duffel. John, let go of the shorts, c’mon, give them to me now. You look silly clutching them to your chest like I’m taking away a toy.”
“Please, Louise, we just need a moment.”
“Okay. Well, when you’re ready, here’s some new dockers. You’ll look nice in these for the festival.”
“They’re the wrong size. Louise. The waist says 42, I’m 36 waist. My OP’s are 36.”
“They’re made in Malaysia. The waist is 42 centimeters, it’s 36 inches in American sizes.”
“I thought so. I mean, 42 is just five points below my age.”
“And five points above your I.Q..”
“Huh?”
“I said Hy Que. They were made in Hy Que, Malaysia.”
“Yeah, well, they better get their sizes right if they want to sell over here.”