Of Belts and Bow-ties

Posted: August 25, 2011 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: ,

If you caught the Steinbeck reference, pat yourself on the back.  Anyway, went out last night with my girlfriend, to help celebrate a friend’s passage into her 30’s (protip: you can find a link to her blog on the right-side panel marked “A Tale of a Book Lover.”).  There was one minor issue.  The occasion was explicitly said to be “fancy.”  It was a surprise, too, so that ruled out the obligatory, “Gimp status, bite me.”

I could have taken the low road and feigned ignorance or inattention like a few people did.  I could deck out, like most of the celebrants did.  No matter what I decided, I have to contend with my exoskeleton.  I can’t fit my freaking cast into a dress shirt, because the elbow is too big.  Obligatory stuffing of large objects in tight places joke aside, this is another reason why I’ve avoided all formal occasions since surgery.  If there’s one thing I have going for me, it’s the ability to stretch a look.  No, I’m not getting that fat yet, but I can appreciate your enthusiasm.

Anyway, I figured a simple white tee shirt and black slacks would due– taking advantage of the fact that I’m a gimp and a blue sling points that fact out with obvious efficiency.  Boom, slacker semi-formal attire handled– thanks to a de facto handicap parking tag.  However, I also have a flair for bullshit (go figure), and I was considering wearing a tie.  After all, if I can use freaking chopsticks lefty– as well as tie a heroin-junkie knot to shower, I can crank down a decent double-windsor.  My father and girlfriend, two nights ago, were joking over the fact that he had a bow-tie.  This wasn’t just any bow-tie, this sucker was Pee Wee Herman red.  They thought I wouldn’t wear it.

Bull.  Shit.

Creepy

Move over, I can do "absurd"-- without the whole inappropriate touch thing... Well, depends on how you ask...

Now that you’re done cursing my name to the heavens (for various reasons), fast forward about 18 hours.  One shit, shower, shave, remove-zombie-flesh-from-Jill, repeat process later– it’s time to figure out how to pull this outfit off.  First off, my pants look damn near painted on– complete with a muffin top.  Maybe that wasn’t an earthquake after all, might be the poundage I’m packing on.  Either way, I shimmied into the white shirt, got my hair one-arm gelled, and handled the rest of getting together.   No, I wasn’t too pleased with how the getup turned out, but hey– I’ve got a sling for that.

I didn’t, however, realize what a bitch it is to shimmy a belt through the loops with only your off hand.  For those of you wondering why I didn’t just take off my pants and loop the belt that way…  well thanks, genius, I could have used that idea before I stood there, spinning like Wario trying to do the freaking twist.

Don't give me what.

All I feel like I lack is a righteous 'stache.

Then I got to stare at the tie.  It clearly came from a tux, because it wasn’t even a simple clip-on.  Before you mention that they can be tied, stop– that would have been a deal breaker, because I can’t even touch my face with Jill (so the neck is right out).  I figured that after the belt fiasco in front of the mirror, this was going to be bad.

I re-sized the neck (before you make more jokes like I am, it’s not my freaking tie), and flipped it around my throat.  A short chase of the ends later, Rosie deftly flip-clipped the sucker together.  Yes, the one-hand-finger-snap trick does work in reverse– just in case you were wondering.

All I have to say for these shenanigans is, welcome to the 3-0 club.

Unplug.

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Comments
  1. earnie says:

    Only you can turn something like putting clothes on into a novel. Brilliance at its best

  2. […] at how difficult some tasks could be with only one usable hand.  All in all, more of you read that shit than my rants and running […]

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