I’ve become a big fan of the word clad lately. Don’t ask me why, and don’t expect this post to actually go anywhere, but I like it. Etymonline tells me it’s a fourteenth century alternate to clothed from the Old English geclæþd (past participle of clæþan, “to clothe”, coming from clað — “cloth”); which fills me with a warm, reassured feeling.
Bikini–clad babes and scantily clad party girls have something to do with this new affinity, I’m sure, but being pegged as a simple pervert is so passé even if there aren’t too many other ways to clad a person. I wouldn’t say I’m t–shirt clad right now —I’d sound like a fucking idiot— but that’s precisely what I am.
T–shirt clad, I mean. Not an idiot. I’m wearing a t–shirt. God damn it.