Pardon Me While I Slip Into Something Less Comfortable.
Friday, June 1, 2007 at 02:45PM
This story has a prologue. A few years ago, I visited my Uncle in San Diego. He was in the Navy, so the house looked like a mini-me version of Annapolis. Model ships. Baseball caps with ships on them. He even had a big Oldsmobile with an entire row of these hats perched in the back window. There's something about old men and hats. After 60, there's a primal need for them to show off head gear. Anyway, he asks me if I'd like to see my some photos of my relatives from Barbados. "Sure,"I said, "let's see what this handsome family looks like." He then blew about seven layers of dust off a rather large scrap book and opened it up.
I winced at the first "family" photograph -- I saw five Winston Churchill clones staring back at me. And that was just the women. The men had massive round heads and short legs. The entire clan looked like the Looney Tunes bulldog. 
Some history -- all the Bakers came from the Island of Barbados and then mysteriously appeared in New England. My father told me they were sugar planters, but it seemed to me that they were sugar eaters as well. Not one of them looked like they had a tan -- and they lived in the tropics. White as Devonshire Cream with Liver spots the size of Pluto.
Fast forward to last month. I walked into one of the last male bastions on earth -- Men's Warehouse. Maybe I'm a tad paranoid, but I thought I heard an audible gasp from the staff. I think they take great pride in being able to size up a man as they walk in the door -- something like he's a 38 regular jacket with a 34 inch waist. I must have been a conundrum. Finally, an old Italian guy with a extra long measuring tape came up to me and started taking notes. Apparently, I'm a 44 Toddler.
I have a large torso and remarkably tiny legs and arms. Just think a Jurassic Park T Rex. Well, they told me "the suit" would be ready the next day. Dutifully, I returned the next day and tried on the suit. Well, the jacket was too tight and the pants too long. It wasn't the tailor's fault. The Baker DNA has an ability to morph overnight. Look at any formal picture of the Baker boys (all five) and we look like we're suffering from group dyspepsia.
We've even tried the Hong Kong Tailors that would sweep in yearly and send the suits in a bamboo box. We all looked like sausages with pin stripe casings. These days, I've taken to wearing a caftan or if the occasion warrants it -- a monk's robe. I call it the Friar Tuck. Frankly, even the caftan is getting a bit snug. So, if you want me to be a groomsman, make sure the wedding is in Tahiti or a Sumo Wrestling Center -- because I think I could fit into one of those mega thongs. 
Yeah, wish me luck with that.
humor
Reader Comments (4)
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Thank you DusGossyadari:
Please come back for more. You may be the only "Dus" reading me. Check out Finding the Right Guy. A guide for women. Dus, thankfully is not there.
The Muse
well, i have to admit, i just like that you make me laugh.
Thank you, like q.