What silly? While other old coots in my retirement home might prefer prim corduroys, the jill-bill in me intends to disembark from the motorbike flaunting those "distressed jeans" flashing my savage tattoos through those rips even in the least flattering and wobbly joints. Let the other fogeys clad themselves in awe of my outrageous fashion! I might have to be careful after wash to dry them securing a steady hold on the clothesline. But you would be around for me to inquire the drying techniques for such slotted outfits. Coq au rasam? You need to improve on your retelling of homely dishes. Stop calling it rasam!