Off to the Dillingham Ranch for a fortnight, to a family wedding.
In keeping with the enormous pattern of luck ruling my life these days, efforts at costuming the big day were very successful. At six-feet tall and 200lbs, I am fat--do you hear?--fat, but I'm also a perfect 44 regular. I went to our local toy Macy's where I found this light-weight, black velvet Claiborne jacket for $31. (I swear to God.)
So feeling able to afford extravagance, I grandly waltzed into what passes for Southampton's best men's shop these days, and announced I wanted to buy the best white dress shirt in the store, which tickled the elderly European clerk, who directed me to the most sublime cotton shirt I've seen since my days of wine and roses turned into calender tics of Tang and philodendron. Made by a designer unknown to me, Robert Graham, his discrete initials can be found riding the cuffs, while his name and a ducal coronet are beautifully embroidered at the neck, to the interior only, where my hot chakra blasts will destroy them in short order. Worn with an open collar, together with a fine-fitting pair of old raspberry Polo slacks and new espadrilles to be purchased last-minute on the island (the something new of tradition,) no one will ever guess the hard rows of BCO turnips I have only recently been hoeing.
I said hoeing.
But the most amazing aspect to the shirt is a gratuitous label hidden at the bottom of the embroidered placket, itself a hiding device for the buttons in the front. Reading Knowledge Wisdom Truth and riding my dangerous base energy sector, I think I'll be safely covered. Tis grace that will get me through.... Not bad for $175 bucks.
To any BCO regulars who stumble this way, tis grace that will get us all through.