"So, I presume you're retired," said a former business acquaintance, eyeing my casual attire. We were in a downtown building foyer, over-run with lawyers and other professionals attired in black suits, so I stood out in jeans and T-shirt as either a basement cleaner or low-rent courier.
"Well actually ..," I responded. "I only enjoyed retirement when young. Now I prefer slaving seven days a week."
"You were such a sharp dresser in the business world - nothing but Armani suits, Hermes ties and hand-made shoes from Jermyn St ..," my acquaintance recalled, his voice trailing into a bewildering silence as he also noticed I was carrying my business files in a plastic supermarket bag.
I debated explaining that I still possess a smart leather briefcase, but since my young son accidentally emptied a carton of milk into it, it's developed a rather powerful odour reminiscent of a mature French cheese, which might be off-putting for fellow directors I planned to meet that day.
If I'd had more time, I would also have explained that the reason for wearing relaxed clothing is because my girth has outgrown my existing suits and I have sartorial difficulties coming to terms with purchasing the latest in gentlemen's business attire.