Friday, May 27, 2011

I'm baaaack!

That's right! I'm back! But not in the creepy Arnold Schwarzenegger (I almost spelled that right the first time) way when he's just letting the maid know he's home after a long day of killing terminators, Colombians, the devil and state budgets, and is ready to have his pipes cleaned. No. Not in that way at all.

It's been a busy year. Sorry. Life took precedent over Blog. But no more! (probably a lie)

The wedding is approaching and the most recent headache came in the shape of a shiny, navy blue suit. Don't worry it is not anything like Jeff Daniel's ensemble in Dumb and Dumber... it's better.

A little back story for you. There are 6 groomsmen in the bridal party, 1 bridegroom (that's the old fashioned way of saying groom-- read a book), 2 fathers, and 2 grandfathers of the bride-- and everyone is getting a suit!

Think Oprah. Imagine her shouting, "You get a suit! And you get a suit! And you get a suit!" You get the idea.

Only Oprah wasn't the one at the suit store, with everyone's suit size, picking out the colors everyone wanted or was being forced to wear, and dealing with the master salesman Claude.

Long story short, it took a number of weeks to get everyone to visit their local neighborhood tailor guy to get sized. Then, the order was placed. Every suit would come with flat front pants (not pleated) and the bride and groom would pick up the suits, a rainbow would appear in the sky, and they would skip to a Disney song, written by the Sherman brothers, sung by Julie Andrews, and peace would break out in the Middle East. Everyone would smile and be happy.

But no, it was not meant to be.

Every suit came back as requested except for one. The only suit to come back pleated was the groom's. There were some options. The tailor could take the pleats out, which meant he/she would need to take the pants apart, thread by thread, seam by seam, for $65. Or get a different suit.

I did not like the idea of wearing pants that were going to be completely disassembled. I worried about this as much as Johnny 5. How could the pants ever possibly be what they once were, nice looking pants? So, after much deliberation, and multiple trips to the dressing room, which anyone who knows me knows how I feel about dressing rooms.

I'd rather be in a port-o-potty deciding if I should risk getting some sort of bacterial/viral infection by taking a seat than go into a stupid dressing
room to try on clothes.

I finally decided on a different suit of a similar color, but with a stripe. Oh well.