My 27-year-old daughter Adrian is in Quincy right now and she came over for a visit. It was so good to see her, after about a year! She’s a very beautiful young woman; Adrian works as a nurse in Portland, Oregon. I’m proud of her!
She drove me over to visit with my folks, which was pleasant, but then I had to fulfill a promise reluctantly granted during the course of an earlier phone call.
Adrian and her guy Martin are getting married this summer out in Portland. She had asked me if I would consent to being measured for a suit.
Damn! A suit? I haven’t worn a suit since I was sixteen years old. But it was my daughter asking me for this favor, so after visiting my folks we stopped at a formal wear store on Broadway.
Obviously I was out of my realm.
I asked Adrian, “What — they’ll take my measurements without being paid?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a courtesy places like that do.”
“So you will take the measurements to some place in Portland?”
“Yeah, I’ve printed out a form for them to fill out.”
Oh, gosh, I didn’t want to do this. We went into the store, which was deserted at that time of day. The clerk took me into the back of the store and submitted me to a ritual of holding my arms outstretched, keeping my feet together, and suchlike while she measured me with a cloth tape.
My daughter and I got back into her borrowed car.
“I hope that wasn’t too stressful for you, Dad!”
“The only thing that made it tolerable was that she was such a good-looking young woman. Did you notice how she would drape the measuring tape over the back of her neck between measurements?”
“And did you notice she was barefoot?”
“No! But no customers — I suppose she just wanted to be comfortable on a hot day… ”