Clothes Maketh The Man

“I love your shirt, man,” the guy at the pizza place said to me when I went in to pick up our lunch.

I’m never very good in social situations. And I don’t just mean at parties. I mean whenever I leave the house. Or even right here at home if we have friends over.

I’m the sort of bloke who’ll ask the same question a couple of times, or tell people a story I’ve already told them, or tell a woman how fantastic she’s looking and how much weight she’s lost and ask what’s her secret, only to have it turn out she’s had a baby. Or, worse, she’s doing chemo.

Usually I can just smile and laugh after saying something dumb or inappropriate or just plain wrong, and a lot of people just assume I’m making a joke. But the fact is I’m a walking, talking, social disaster – including at fast food outlets.

After a quick look down to see what the hell shirt I was wearing which would elicit such a positive statement I quickly decided on the appropriate response. He likes my shirt? I’ve totally got this. I mean how could I stuff it up?

“Thanks,” I said. Perfect.

And I should have left it there. But let’s face it, that would have been out of character. I smiled back at him in what I now hope was a friendly, but not sexual, manner.

“I’ve got matching undies,” I said.

…and his face froze.

For maybe one second we just looked at each other.

“Bazinga?” I murmured hopefully, and forced a laugh.

And after another second he joined in.

Yep, I’m a funny guy.

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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”