Alright, I’ll spill the frijoles de la olla. I have always desired to look more gentlemanly like. You know, GQ like. Tux, cigarr, style and all that. Sometimes I feel I was born into it, damn if I don’t feel like a mill bucks on any damn afternoon in May along the park. It’s like a tranvestite feels except that I have a gentleman buried deep down in me that never gets to be the drag queen. It’s always me that gets the better of this feel.
Me. Jeans that barely fit, wrinkled shirts, months old calzones that only get discarded when the holes in it are bigger than the hole where my two legs need to go in first. And they go painfully, by the time slit gets to them I’ve gotten to know them so well that its like parting from a precious heirloom, though I would be hard press to think that someone in this life would find it appropiate to give calzones as an heirloom. Either way, the story about my wardrove is a failure of historical proportions.
I believe that this can be due to my humble origins where one only gets to dress nice when one partakes in the Catholic rituals of Communion or someone’s wedding somewhere. Otherwise its the same old pair of stinking socks for every other aspect of my social life.
It embarresses me sometimes. I want to look better and classy, damn it. No, am not a traitor to my class. I just think that people like Sean Connery or Anthony Hopkins embody a style of manhood that I find quite tasteful, in my taste. Hell, I want to be a wine connosiuer. I want to be able to appear in control of the english language and most of all, I wan to get angry in style, just like the aforementioned actors do in their acting roles.
But no. Were there a show that somehow requiered profound and complete knowhow in the manners of Extreme Casual Wear I’d be a top payed consultant on the matter. Come on, it takes years to remain largely unawaress of one own pantalones size, it is an art to go into a store and come out with a pair of jeans that are either too long or too tight for one. And let us not forget that jeans are always the du rigour daily wear. Shirst? Ja, you think that wrinkled is just a laziness attribute? Think again, wrinkle betrays days of deep concentration and wasted hours in the absence of the mind.
Oh well, the drag will just have to wait. But one day, one day, I will, at the very least, look the part. Near it either way.