An admiral is staring off the deck of his battleship at the approaching enemy on the horizon.
“Fetch my red shirt,” the admiral says to his first officer. “If I’m wounded in battle, I don’t want the men to see I’m bleeding. It will kill morale.”
“But sir,” says the first officer, “there is a fleet of fifteen ships coming right for us.”
“Oh,” the admiral sighs. “Well, in that case go grab my brown pants.”