The Ricker is branching out.

He just updated part of his wardrobe. By my calculation, he brought it into the mid-to-late '90s, so I'm expecting him to start wearing Dave Matthews Band shirts and hemp necklaces any day (the Ricker does live 45 minutes from Red Rocks, after all).

His recent purchases replace his older shorts, on which he had both the hem and the pockets brought in (I'm not sure replace is the correct word; maybe "augment" since I know he'll keep his old shorts for a decade or two). The Ricker is now sporting some pre-wrinkled, knee-length cargo shorts that he purchased on sale. He also bought a pair of baggy cargo pants. Ever Ricker-like, he found these on sale, "15% off of 50% off of 50% off," or as he said, "nearly free."

He called me at work to tell me of his conquest. I have been working long hours this summer (hence the lack of new Ricker stories--it hasn't been for lack of material). Late last night, he called my cell phone. I answered (since no one was in the office), he asked what I was doing, to which I replied, "Working."

He talked for 10 minutes or so, telling me about his shorts, his pictures in Mexico and his plans for the evening before asking me what I was doing. To which I replied, again, "Working."

Answered the Ricker: "Oh, well, you should have told me you were at work. I'll let you go, then."

And sure enough, true to his word, he let me go--about eight minutes later.