Monday, June 12, 2006

i've got more clothes than muhammad ali and i dress so viciously

One of the favorite pastimes of the men at my church is to tease me about how I dress.

Yes, it seems that I adorn myself in a rather peculiar fashion. My pants often undergo a strange procedure known as "ironing". My torso coverings are often festooned with strange neckware embellishments known as "collars". And I take my clothing on regular pilgrimages to a strange land known as "Dry Cleaners".

And don't even get me started on the ties. I'm proud of my tie collection. The 6th grader does not approve of some of them. She joins in the mockery of my apparel. I just chuckle at her and pat her on the head. Sometimes I might lovingly say, "Half of your wardrobe has 'Princess' written on it. So I won't be taking dressing advice from you just because you happened to catch a What Not to Wear marathon."

Yes, a little brotherly love from Hoover.

So for the past year I have nobly suffered the slings and arrows of adolescent girls and a bunch of guys who wouldn't know a collar stay from a cuff link. Just a Nordstroms boy in a Nascar world. But then it came time for the Evening of Elegance.

The EoE, or as a I called it, "The Chick Dinner", was a chance for all of the ladies at church to get dressed up, have a nice dinner, and talk about... uh... whatever it is that skirts talk about when they dress up and have a nice dinner.

During the planning of this event, a couple of the broads in charge informed Rodney and I that we would also be getting dressed up - for the purposes of serving the food. This was not a problem for me. I can't say as much for Rodney. As time passed and the date of the EoE loomed nearer, more and more dudes were recruited to help serve.

So on Sunday afternoon, a few hours before the big event, five of these guys are in the living room after lunch. One of them makes their case known:

"Uhhh... Hoover... Do you have like... a tie I could... you know... wear?"

"I have many ties. What color would you like?"

"Eh, it doesn't matter."

"Actually, it does."


"What color shirt are you wearing?"

"I... uhhh..."

"Are you wearing khakis? Black pants? Charcoal? Pinstripes?"

"I have black jeans."

"Well, I'll let Clint Black know that they're missing. In the meantime, go pick out some khakis."

I then proceeded to outfit the whole lot of them. Ties, shirts, pants, shoes. I got everybody looking gude. But they still tried to get in a few little barbs, which I promptly shot down:

"Here's your outfit, Paul."

"Dude, did you just call it an outfit."

"Hey, you're really funny. You're going to look even funnier when we're all dressed up and you're still wearing that t-shirt because you couldn't stop talking trash long enough to appreciate that I'm trying to help you out."

"...Sorry. But why does it have to be lavender?"

"Because you're a Spring skin-tone and you can pull off pastels without looking washed out."

"Dude, did you just-"

"T-shirt, Paul."


Needless to say we all looked quite dapper. And when it came time to divide and serve the three cheesecakes, we served all of the dames by cutting up the first two really small and we saved the third one for ourselves.

Thanks, ladies.