The Return of the Swacket

You may remember my slightly humiliating post about my husband's lack of style.  If you don't, click here and read it again.  He was so proud of his new jacket/sweater/vest combination top, and I had some seriously terrible things to say about it.  Since writing that post, we've named that particular clothing item a "swacket," and laugh about it still.

Back in February, I arrived at the Raleigh/Durham International Airport to pick up my beloved in-laws for a much-anticipated visit.  We said our hellos, got into the car, and started to head back to the apartment.  I knew there was something different about my father in-law, but couldn't quite put my finger on what it was.  Then it hit me.  He was wearing his very own Swacket.  In black.  And to be perfectly honest, it didn't look half bad on him.  Maybe it's his bone structure.  Or coloring.  Or (gasp) age strikingly good looks.  But he wore that swacket all weekend, and he wore it proudly. 

Here he is looking swacketly lovely: (I'm thinking his left arm was chilly, so he kept that sleeve on!)

Demonstrating the swacket's extreme versatility by removing the sleeves:

Ta-Da!  It's a vest!

On another note, my husband was feeling so sorry for himself that I made him return his swacket, and he couldn't match his dad.  So his parents went home, spent some time searching the clearance rack at Kohls,  (because where else would something this odd be, but the clearance rack?) and picked up a new swacket for him.  My inlaws are flying into town tomorrow morning.  I'm wondering if the weekend will be swacket-a-licious...