For years, I managed to dress myself. Then I married a consultant. Getting dressed has become an adventure. I was heading to the closet to snatch something to wear to my brother Dan’s wedding. ‘‘You probably want to set out your shoes to be polished,’’ my wife called out as I started up the stairs. ‘‘Not really,’’ I called back. ‘‘Yes, you do,’’ she said. I turned and stared down the stairs, trying to puzzle out this bit of information. ‘‘They’re fine,’’ I finally said. ‘‘It’s not like I’m going to prop my feet up on the pew in front of me.’’ ‘‘Do you want this to be a happy wedding?’’ she asked. ‘‘I don’t think Mary Jane is going to care if my shoes...’’ ‘‘I wasn’t talking about the bride,’’ she said. ‘‘Oh,’’ I said. I changed directions to find the dusty shoes that I now knew I would be polishing. ‘‘Set out the clothes you plan to wear so I can check to see if they need ironed,’’ she said. ‘‘They’re fine,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m wearing these brown slacks and that blue shirt.