Tailor made
Thanks to the magic of getting pissed and Amazon, Christmas shopping has been fairly easy this year. That’s not to say that the run-up to yule has not been without its pressures - because I’ve been (gasp) working, the trees have only been dressed in the last few days. That said, they do look great, the good thing about a real tree is that they are BIG, which means you can get a shitload of lights on them. My front room looks like the final scene from close encounters when all the lights are on.
I’ve read that some people find modern life stressful. I find this a little hard to believe considering that they consider stress as being generated by not being able, for instance, to get just the right present for their kid. Is the truth that the stress is generated by your kid on Christmas morning when they start whining? In which case I have the perfect present - those shoes that have wheels popping out of them - heelies? Saw a girl with them at the supermarket last night and it looked like great fun. Wonder if they make them for adults? Anyhoo, get your whining kid those and, if you live on a hill, give him a shove for Christmas. Problem solved.
Not that I’m suggesting child cruelty at Christmas - though I believe Herod did.
If you do feel stressed though - I suggest a visit to your tailor. There’s nothing like being herded into the back room and gently touched up in a way that would normally only happen in a) a small but decent public school or b) a committed relationship. Also, one’s tailor is the only chap who one can be honest with. When taking a waist measurement he will strike up a conversation and talk of this and that while holding the tape. After a minute or so it becomes impossible to hold your gut in and one relaxes. The proper measurement is taken and, importantly, no number is ever mentioned.
At most he will say ‘I shall adjust for Christmas’. Such is the understanding between tailor and client.
I’ve read that some people find modern life stressful. I find this a little hard to believe considering that they consider stress as being generated by not being able, for instance, to get just the right present for their kid. Is the truth that the stress is generated by your kid on Christmas morning when they start whining? In which case I have the perfect present - those shoes that have wheels popping out of them - heelies? Saw a girl with them at the supermarket last night and it looked like great fun. Wonder if they make them for adults? Anyhoo, get your whining kid those and, if you live on a hill, give him a shove for Christmas. Problem solved.
Not that I’m suggesting child cruelty at Christmas - though I believe Herod did.
If you do feel stressed though - I suggest a visit to your tailor. There’s nothing like being herded into the back room and gently touched up in a way that would normally only happen in a) a small but decent public school or b) a committed relationship. Also, one’s tailor is the only chap who one can be honest with. When taking a waist measurement he will strike up a conversation and talk of this and that while holding the tape. After a minute or so it becomes impossible to hold your gut in and one relaxes. The proper measurement is taken and, importantly, no number is ever mentioned.
At most he will say ‘I shall adjust for Christmas’. Such is the understanding between tailor and client.
1 Comments:
Funny you mention cruelty to whining children at Christmas. It brings to mind a huge "lesson" I learned when I was about 5 years old. In always being quite efficient and systematic in every sort of task that I undertake right down to opening presents, I quickly opened every single present. At the time my dad was loaded, mind you, and therefore I had MANY presents under the tree. It went sort of like this: Mom hands present, Ann either unwraps or inspects (sometimes Santa didn't wrap everything), then sets in pile to the side. Then Ann methodically sorts presents and carries off, load by load, to her room. Present exchange complete. Everything kind of went to crap however, when I realized my brothers weren't even one third of the way through their presents. In my 5-year-old logic, I assumed they'd gotten more than me and began to cry. Let's just say that I began to cry even harder when I got a spanking on Christmas morning...that pretty much ended my feeling sorry for myself...at least in that sense. Now I realize that those dumb boys actually PLAYED with their presents after opening them....SO STUPID!
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