Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Suit

This past summer, my illustrious boyfriend Shayne came home one day with pictures to show me. This is before he really got into photography, which is now a growing hobby of his (much to my enjoyment, as I love having my picture taken) so I figured that it would be an adorable picture of one of the many stray cats in his alley. Alright, so he's never taken a picture of a stray cat (that I know of) but for the sake of this little tale (haha I'm rolling here!) lets just say that this is what I thought.

He handed me his camera and offered me a look. There were no pictures of stray cats (or their tails) but rather pictures of him...in a dressing room...wearing a ridiculous suit...posed in his usual ridiculous thumbs up to make my girlfriend crack up stance. He asked me what I thought, "you mean about the pictures?" I asked, "No! About the suit!" I admit, it was a great suit, polyester, brown, with hounds tooth detail around all the pockets. When I asked him why he didn't purchase this suit, he said that the clerks wouldn't negotiate enough, and he wasn't willing to pay the price for it. Good enough reason, and we both forgot about it...or so we both thought.

A couple weeks later when Shayne was away in BC, I decided to surprise him by buying him the suit. My idea was to take a picture of myself wearing it, and post it as my facebook profile picture for him to discover on his own. Though may I note, I realize now that that was a bad plan, as Shayne doesn't use facebook much. I left work early one day, armed only with the knowledge that the suit came from Kensington Market, but I figured I could find it if I combed through all 30 vintage stores on Kensington Ave. It was a gorgeous day, and so I began.

Down the street I went, in and out of musty store after musty store. I searched every rack for a brown suit with hounds tooth detail, asked every store clerk if they remember a guy who was trying on crazy suits, and I wasn't having any luck. I went into a Jamaican head shop and asked them where I could likely find the best suit store on the street, and explained to them why. They all laughed and called me a sweetheart.

After an hour of searching, I began to realize that it was becoming futile. Prom season was upon us and hipster kids love nothing more than nerdy vintage suits, so I figured that one of them must have stolen the suit out from under my moth-ball irritated nose. This pissed me off because I knew that none of those kids would appreciate the suit like Shayne would. After this kid had perhaps had a couple of dances, got drunk for the first time and passed out on his bedroom floor in his parent's house, the suit would be stashed in the closet, never to be appreciated again. It just wasn't fair!

So, defeated, I went home and took a picture of myself wearing my own clothes, looking sad, and posted that picture instead, and explained to Shayne what I had tried to do because I still wanted credit for my efforts. He appreciated the efforts very much.

A few months later, I was at Shayne's place, taking advantage of the big empty place to wail on my cello as loud as I wanted (no neighbours there). He was upstairs getting ready for a show and called me up to help him pick out a tie. I climbed the stairs slowly, all the way up to the third floor, opened the door and was faced with a knee-slapping, laughing, pointing boyfriend...who was wearing the suit. "Must have been some hipster going to prom eh?"

Well, I had to give him credit for keeping this little bit of information to himself as I lamented my journeys in the market. All I could say was something along the lines of "You'd better be glad it was sunny that day!"

No comments: