His collar is always up, but not on purpose, like a detective who is posing as post-middle-aged Asian man who whipped his coat off the hanger on the way out of the house after making sure the all the lights are off and the doors are locked, and he plays the role well. He’s extremely practical, if not impractically so. He’ll literally go the extra mile to park in the one spot where he can plug in his baby blue Prius and walk that mile to where he is going; we still had seven miles on the battery.
He begins flushing the toilet before he finishes peeing in our small floral-wallpapered bathroom to save time because he knows you have to hold down the lever for at least five seconds for a full flush.
He taught me that if you can build it, don’t buy it, and if you have one, but don’t need it…you will (though often by that time you need to buy a new one anyway).
His mom called him lazy; my mom calls him crazy; but I call him Dad, and he dresses exactly as you would expect him to.