Dress Up

News flash: This week marks the one year anniversary of Words for the Weary. Thanks to everyone for reading these stories. I hope you enjoy doing so as much as I enjoy writing them. My thanks also to the intrepid blog curator for her weekly edit and story upload.  Let’s try to keep this going for another year if we can!

Sometimes, on very special occasions, a man just needs to wear a dress, dammit.

One such occasion was shortly after university for a theme party we christened Bridesmaid Revisited. The objective was to dig out old, often ugly, bridesmaid dresses mouldering in the closet and wear them for the party. How often do bridal party members get the chance to re-wear the dress they spent hundreds of dollars on?

The hitch was that everyone at the party was expected to wear such a dress. So that afternoon a number of us guys went down to the thrift store to see what we could find. I scored a big formal number in retina-searing yellow with pleats, an open back, and a huge silk flower affixed to the shoulder. I pity the poor woman who originally elected (or was obliged) to wear this dress. I sought to do it justice in her honour.

The party was a hit. Of the 70+ people there, only one was not in a dress. And he had chosen to attend dressed as a weedy wedding photographer. By midnight most of the party was sitting in the big kiddy wading pool at the municipal park across the street.  A neighbour called the cops. When the police arrived, they just stood there chuckling in disbelief. We got our picture with them before peacefully dispersing.  Thankfully this was in the days before social media.

Another occasion calling for formal dress wear was a wedding shower hosted for my soon-to-be-wife by friends of my mother. My wife was a bit nervous, since she did not know these women all too well. But being a good sport, off she went to the event with mom.

To ease her nerves (and without telling her of course), I suggested to my dad and brother that we follow them there and crash the shower dressed as uninvited lady guests. Of course they readily agreed. We dug out horrendous old dresses from the family costume box. We weren’t too convincing, since at the time dad and I both had beards and my brother’s legs rivalled those of a lesser primate. Still, one does what one can.

We drove to the shower, babbling nervously in our frocks. We stopped at a traffic light. A pick-up truck rolled up in the lane beside us. Behind the wheel sat the Chairman of the university department where my father was a professor. He glanced down into our car. He did a double take. His eyes widened, locked with those of my father in his frilly green dress. Time stood still. The light changed and, as we drove away, dad gave his Chairman a coquettish smile and wave. Then he turned to us and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got tenure.”