Mild panic arose as the man with the slicked back hair tried to fasten the top button of this wretched rented shirt that happened to be closing in on my throat. He brought me one of those button-hole extenders that I thought only people with multiple chins would use and the problem was solved. Guess I was wrong about THAT stereotype.
Next came the half-vest that fits like a one-piece, backless swimsuit for girls, only, a lot more scandalous, if you ask me. Add some jet-black hammer pants (remember those?), a noose for a fake necktie, and shoes that look something like you might imagine Christian might be rocking, in Pilgrim’s Progress only much shinier. Add a few more elements, and I’m ready to go home. The wedding wasn’t until Saturday, and I was just trying all this garbage on. Good thing it fit, I don’t want to come back to this tuxedo rental place, EVER.
I don’t like renting clothing. It’s used and dirty, and I might catch a disease from it. It’s funny that I make that statement, because I’ll buy something from a thrift store or consignment shop, but I can wash those first, perhaps that’s the difference. I just think that it’s backwards because I feel gross in something that’s supposed to be all snazzy and stuff, because I wonder, who’s been there and done what in that shirt, jacket, pants before me? I prayed over it all before I put it on, so I 
wouldn’t break out in some gnarly rash and want to die at the wedding. It worked. I really don’t know where I’m going with this, I just don’t like rented clothes, but you’ll never catch me buying a tuxedo, I’d rather be found in a tuxedo t-shirt, much more white trash, but one-hundred percent more tolerable than the real deal!
I could have looked mediocre in my own clothes, and felt great! (HA, if I had the choice) but that wasn’t an option, so I did what I was told, and still managed to have fun.
