The Doctor and I have been speaking to each other on the phone
almost every day for the past 25 years. We used to joke that nothing
in our lives really happened until the other person heard about it.
Today, for example, the Doctor told me an awesome story about
performing surgery on a 275 pound Irish construction worker who spends
his free time fighting illegally in Brooklyn basements (a la "Fight
Club.") The guy just had his finger reattached three weeks ago after
someone literally BROKE IT OFF in a fight.
During the course of his procedure, this guy regaled the Doctor with stories about his years training in jujitsu, the time he bit off someone's nose, and how much money he makes for each fight ($2,000 if he wins.)
The Doctor and I were amazed! We talked about what total pussies we were and how if we ever found ourselves forced to fight in a Brooklyn basement, we'd probably crap all over our Hugo Boss boxer shorts. These "Fight Club" guys probably knew 100 ways to kill us just by LOOKING in our general direction!
The Doctor and I are not tough. We kill with sarcasm and our favorite weapon is a loofah. In fact, while talking about underground brawls and the movie "Fight Club," we ended up getting completely sidetracked into a 20-minute debate about whether Brad Pitt's clothes in the film were designed by John Varvatos, Alexander McQueen, or John Galliano.
You see, my friends, I have a confession to make...
Before the Peanut arrived into our lives and rendered the concept of disposable income completely laughable, I was somewhat of a clothes horse.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like I used to gussy myself up in sartorial splendor. It's more that I have always adamantly refused to wear the requisite clothing that has somehow been deemed societally appropriate for men of my age (khakis, button-down oxfords, loafers, sweatshirts, polar fleece pullovers, navy blazers---I am congenitally allergic to all of those things.)
What would you expect from a man whose mother dressed him in leopard-print bathing suits when he was a boy?
For the most part, I usually wear the same thing every day---dark jeans, dark shirt, black urban boots. Really, if you ever saw me, you would never imagine that I was the kind of guy who spent more than a few minutes thinking about his daily wardrobe (that insouciant style requires a lot of work, people!)
My lovely daughter, the Peanut, being two years old, seems to have inherited my interest in fashion. These days, she's particularly obsessed with her socks. If I don't put the right socks
on her feet, she will go into complete meltdown mode. She's also quite fond of creating her own outfits.
A few months ago, we bought the Peanut two items: a pair of jeans
and a miniature Hello Kitty umbrella. She loves the jeans immensely
because the pockets are deep enough that she can put both hands in them
and jump up and down like a jackhammer. And naturally, she likes the
umbrella because it is pink, cute and makes her feel like a big girl.
I tell you all of this because, last weekend, the BossLady and I were hanging out in the living room. Things were abnormally quiet in the Peanutsphere and we were starting to get concerned. Just as we were about to check up on her, she came prancing into the room topless, wearing only her jeans, swinging her little umbrella, and singing "Old McDonald."
I almost peed my pants laughing, it was so funny. It was like a gay stage production of "M. Butterfly" meets "Singin' in the Rain."
Today, we didn't feel like butting heads with the Peanut over her wardrobe choices so we let her wear whatever she wanted. Being a fan of mixing and matching disparate styles to create her own look, the Peanut apparently decided that nothing says lazy Sunday like a snowboard hat, an art smock and a Hello Kitty handbag.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the latest outfit from the Peanut Kim 2006 Holiday Collection...
Fashion...it changes so quickly these days. Who can keep up?