It was the last day of life on earth and I had made the fatal error of forgetting to pick up my favorite three-button blazer from the cleaner's. A ravenous appetite last Thursday, combined with ranch dressing and chicken gravy at the dinner buffet had rendered my grey tweed temporarily unserviceable, and now I was paying the price for my short-sightedness.
I had always figured that when the end of the world came, I would be ready. I had intended to meet the day armed with not only my unflappable faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God, but also a good dose of panache and, as regards my personal attire, a certain 'je ne sais quoi'. Hence, the angst over not having my blazer ready to hand. I would be forced to see the Second Coming clad in houndstooth, rather than the herring-bone that I had planned on, and I was fretting over my tie and pocket-square combination when my friend Jack called.
“Tom, what are you wearing for the second coming, old boy?”
I confessed that I was behind the eight-ball on this one.
“Well, I'm opting for a casual approach this time – I have a pair of chinos and a button-down Argyle sweater-vest ready to go,” he shared with me, effervescently. “I'm agonizing over my tie, however. Why don't you come over and help me pick one out.”
I saddled up and headed over to Jack's place – a pristine brownstone with awesome window treatments. Once there, Jack shook up a couple of Beefeater Martinis and proceeded to show me his tie rack. I immediately pointed out a splendid blue silk number.
“Naaah...too conservative, Andrews, old boy. If I am going to be judged, I want to stand on the merits of my pizazz. How about this one?” He held aloft a true relic – a “fish tie.”
I thought a moment. “Perhaps you are on to something, Jack. I like the cut of your jib...go with the fish tie.”
Jack had his own moment of reflection, and apparently reconsidered his selection. “No...Yes...OK...I think it's this one. Definitely this one,” he said, of a Italian specimen dappled with emerald polygons. “If this isn't good enough for the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, I don't know what is.”
“Best of luck to you, brother,” I said to Jack, hugging him and slapping him on the back.
When he turned to go back to his bedroom, I quietly and deftly pocketed the fish tie. A trout would look splendid with the houndstooth, I figured, and a fish looks a lot like a lion.