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My 23-year-old daughter is extremely fashion-conscious of herself and, much to my chagrin, me. On a recent visit, she pointed out that I was wearing a flannel shirt that I had donned since 1995. Not constantly, mind you, but often enough that she pointed out the frayed collar. I objected - not to the fraying that gives it character - but to "wearing it since 1995." It was actually 1991, a year after she was born; it had just gotten comfy in 1995.

My penchant for clinging to possessions isn't relegated to clothing; for instance, no matter how many times a lightning strike takes out my tube television, I keep buying new ones despite the flat-screen revolution. I first knew this was a status-quo issue when the Best Buy guy ushered me to a back room like I was asking for pornographic material.

Not one to go into debt over a television, I asked the man in blue, "Just where are the tube TVs?" Hustling me away from other credit-paying customers, he sucked wind in wide-eyed disbelief that I uttered "tube" and "TV" in the same breath. For lack of a meaningful sales commission, I was left to hoist my 200-pound choice onto a cart, purchase it and load it into my 1999 mini van.

My old seven-seater is another sign that my buying habits tempered over time. It had a few rust spots here and there and 194,000 miles of spills, muddy feet and dry leaves that I hauled to the city compost. The dashboard lights up like a Christmas tree. I have owned the van so long that when the rear hatch opened after being fixed, I felt like I had a swanky option.

In fact, if you consider that once upon a time automobiles never had intermittent wipers, power windows and doors, key-less entry, cruise control or horns, it became irrelevant that each failed on my vehicle over the past couple years. Who knew that when Consumer Reports placed a big black dot under the "Electronics" rating, it meant that anything that required voltage would eventually fall into a cavernous black abyss?

I'm not entirely averse to keeping up with the times, however. This Christmas, my daughter bought a bright red flannel shirt for me, and her act of kindness seems to have started a chain reaction. Just last weekend, I replaced my holey socks with new ones, and I have plans to visit Eddie Bauer's clearance rack. I am even contemplating a newer vehicle.

My daughter will be thrilled, no doubt. I'll tell her this simply signifies the beginning of a fine second act of my life. Knowing me as my daughter does, she will be certain that 15 years from now, I'll still be driving the very vehicle I am now considering. She will surely imagine me driving down the road in my future rust-bucket, looking quite at home in my faded red flannel.

And, yes, she'll be on the mark, right down to the frayed collar, which is a benchmark of true comfort.

- Doug Clough

Doug Clough writes a column for the Ida County Courier in Ida Grove, Iowa, called "From our backyard…" His work has appeared in Farm News, The Iowan and Boating World, and he served as a travel scout for Midwest Living. "I am a father of a salad bowl family (aka 'blended'), a customer service manager, the possession of my Labradoodle and - in a former life - an English teacher. Someone has to enjoy that mix; it may as well be me," he says.