a man in carharts

i’ve always been a sucker for a man in carharts. there is something about the rustic nature of the twill cloth gracefully hanging from the be-hind of an attractive man that zings me. friends who know me well don’t ask if i am dating anyone (its been years for that) but rather , whether i have met my carhart man yet.

i suppose i am attracted to the rugged potential of the men who chose to wear carhart or filson, instead of suits or typical northwest gear of fleece and Levi's. sometimes they are wavy haired, dreamy eyed men. sustaining the fantasy of the outdoor boy who is intelligent as well as cute.

my catholic -school-boy -beau wore a carhart jacket. i have fond memories of walking on our college campus at night in the fall with my hand wrapped in his, tucked into the pocket of that jacket. my guitar-playing-biology-boyfriend wore levi’s but he probably would have discovered carharts eventually. my-hiking-kissing-in-the-meadow-man wears carharts and a filson vest. when i bought the ranchelow in 2003, i was dismayed to learn that one of the houses next to me was a rental. when saw the two carhart wearers there , i got over it.

not too long ago i was shopping at new seasons by myself ( a rare thing these days.) in the produce isle i saw a blond blue eyed man in a pair of tan carharts and it was all i could do to not follow him out the door to his car (? truck) and beg for his phone number. i refrained but it made me smile a secret smile of lust and reminded me of all the men i have loved who were carhart wearers.