I am very comfortable in my own skin. That being said, Alice usually wants me to be wearing something more when guests come over. Or when we go out in public where the people are predominately conservative Christians, like at church or the shooting range. Fortunately, I also like to dress up in a nice suit, which fits perfectly with the whole 'churchy' atmosphere of the local shooting range. There is only one problem: my overly large, thunder thighs. You might even call them womanly thighs. That is, if you want to be slapped silly by any woman within the sound of your voice. True, I have slimmed down a bit since I've been married and have even lost some of the junk from my trunk, but genetics are not so easily coerced. The fact is, my thighs are very well acquainted with one another. Unlike some people's thighs that very rarely meet, my thighs are so close together, they have often been classified as one megathigh. The friction created by my rubbing appendages has more than once started local underbrush on fire. With the recent fire dangers here in California, the Park Service even issued a special ban on my thighs for all preserve areas. I like to tell people that my ginormous thighs are from my high jump training. That only works until they see me asking Alice to get things down from the top cupboard shelf for me.
As you can imagine, I tend to wear out pants rather quickly. My latest pair of jeans lasted no more than 6 months before the first crotch hole appeared. Almost all my suits suffer similar maladies. Couple that with my marriage induced weight loss and I look rather silly at the shooting range, flailing around in a too-big-for-me suit with my legs perpetually crossed like I have to pee. Alice was moved upon to have compassion and she decided to buy me a new suit of clothes for Christmas.
The trouble is, buying a suit is an extremely personal experience. You have to get into the suit and move around in it. You must experience the suit. The man does not choose the suit, the suit chooses the man. It is truly magical. So my Christmas present will not be a surprise, but it will be just what I wanted. Here are a few pics I took of myself trying on suits in the local Macy's dressing room. They were having a big sale and I ended up buying two $500 suits for only $350 for both. When you save that kind of scratch, suit buying is elevated to a spiritual experience. I'm still looking for the suit with the kevlar reinforced crotch but I can settle for now. Hopefully these suits are at least made from fire retardant fabrics.
Monday, December 3, 2007
The emperor's new birthday suit
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 Helens agree.
What a highly relevant post:
1) I will make Neil read this and he will realize the coolness inherent in buying a suit. I mean, if Corbin's doing it, how can it be wrong?
2) I totally relate to your thigh problem! No one understands how a relatively slim person has this issue, but for me it's a combo of the aforementioned thigh ginormosity paired with apparently proportionately narrow hips. I realized this while marathon training and developing a severe case of chafing. Ow.
P.s. great bowler hat!
It sounds like you are calling yourself a fire-crotch. why don't you just line the inside of your pants with duct tape or design something liquid to reinforce your pants. Over-all this post was obsene and made me sad that I never noticed and then teased you.
In response to your bowler hat... I never knew those were called bowler hats until last night when I was wearing a small hat that Zac and Gina found in their winter clothes. Gina commented that it looked like a bowler hat in which I asked, "A What!" and she repeated. I said, "Like pins and bowling ball hats?" They both then had to proceed to tell me what a bowler hat was. Very useful in that I can now understand Megan's comment. My new friends have now caught on at school, and in moments of stupor say, "I had a Taralyn moment."
Actually, it's kind of hard to tell in the pictures but it's not a bowler. Bowlers have a rounded crown and an up turned brim all the way around. My hat has a center dent (a crease in the top), no side dents, a hard body, and a formerly up turned brim. I think technically this makes it a homburg. The fedora is the iconic gangster/Indiana Jones hat and are usually made of soft felt, although they come in many varieties. The trilby is like a fedora, but with a much narrower brim and many people call them fedoras. A top hat is obvious (Abe Lincoln wore a stovepipe top hat). If I were to get another hat, I think it would be a trilby. Now you know all about men's hats and there's no need to sound uninitiated amongst your anachronistic friends.
When I was poor and wearing suits while riding a bicycle everyday of my life for two long years without possibility of parole, we had a little old lady sew a patch of leather into the crotch of our suit pants. Now that I am older and not so timmid, I just wear colorful underwear and show it off to the world. If anyone says something, I just ask them why they were looking at my crotch. If it's a guy, I accuse them of being gay.
I went one step further and bought full leather pants. However, except for when I dress up as Jim Morrison, I'm usually too self conscious to wear them. Oh well. I think Neil paid for them and I probably never paid him back, so it didn't cost me much.
Go ahead. It's only 2¢.