Riveting. Truly riveting.

And by the way. Wow! She’s got really shiny hair.

I’ve had surprisingly little to say these past few days.

I don’t know — I’ve been stuck in a sort of limbo.

There’s a lot I’m worried about. Most of all, I just don’t feel ready to start my doctoral research. There’s so many topics in math I’m supposed to be better acquainted with. And this summer (like all summers) was supposed to be an opportunity for me to bang out these dents.

It started out well. June and July were right on schedule. But now with August winding down, I’ve realized I haven’t really been on the ball this month. As I’ll be starting in September, there’s little chance for me to pick it up now. In the next few weeks, I’ll have to find a way to get my head back into the game.

But these next two weeks are sure not to disappoint.

Funny how I’ve had quite a few friends call me these past few days, asking to see if I’d care to have lunch or a drink before I hit the road.

I had no idea I owed so many people money.

I’m also not quite ready to let go of Ottawa.

After living here my whole life, there’s so many memories I have attached to this small city.

Anyways, I’m not ready to go all weepy-eyed on you guys. Not yet, anyways

The problem with the single-page posts’ been fixed. Thanks for letting me know, guys.

thighs

…the typical difference between a man’s waist and thigh is about 6-7 inches. For me, the difference is more like 11-12 inches. Almost double.

I’m one chunky bastard.

I think I’d look good in women’s clothing.

Does that sound odd to you?

Probably. Oh, who am I kidding, you probably have your hand hovering over the phone at this very moment, ready to hand me over to the loony bin.

But bear with me. Can you do that? Maybe by the end of this, it won’t sound so odd.

But here’s a (somehow fitting) song by Barbara Streisand that’ll keep you company as we tread on.

A few posts ago, I mentioned having visited a tailor. His name was Mario and he charged me close to two thousand dollars to make a tux and two, rather ordinary collared shirts.

For a handmade outfit, it’s not extraordinarily expensive. But for a not-even-out-of-school punk like me, who doesn’t have a six digit salary, a rich power-hungry wife, and a Beverly Hills mansion, it’s still a bit of money. A helluva lot.

So why bother?

The problem — like all problems in life — starts at the waist.

It’s a nasty problem and goes both ways — up to my chin and down to my itty-bitty toes.

The thing is, I’m an extraordinarily short guy — only about five feet seven inches. 5′7, assuming I’m standing up straight. 5′7 assuming it’s sunny outside and the weather’s just perfect. 5′7 on a tall day.

I’m also an extraordinarily heavy guy — weighing anywhere from 190 lbs to 195 lbs. In fact, on a heavy day — like Wednesday — I may even be over 195 lbs. Hold the applause, please.

But all these two characteristics aren’t problems by themselves, no. It’s the waist, you see.

And my waist, along with my extraordinarily short stature and extraordinarily heavy weight, is an extraordinarily small waist.

Okay, I’m pulling your leg. It’s not that small.

The problem is that at one end, my waist flares out to a wide back. And at the other, it flares out to even chunkier thighs. Take a look at the following silhouette. I should warn you though, the full chunkiness of my thighs is poorly depicted in this silhouette.

Since I know I’m going to have to answer some silly questions about this (mainly from Dave): No I wasn’t entirely naked for this picture, and yes, I had my boxers on.

Stop laughing.

According to my newfound tailor, Mario, the typical difference between a man’s waist and thighs is about 6-7 inches. For me, the difference is more like 11-12 inches. Almost double. I’m one chunky bastard.

So let me take you through the process of how someone like me would find an ordinary button-down shirt.

First: I’d have to find a shirt that was meant for someone with my relatively short stature — not an unsurmountable task, sure, but the majority of clothes out there are meant for men at least a few inches taller.

Second: Most dress shirts meant for men 5′7-5′9 can’t accommodate my wide upper back and shoulders. This is a pretty big problem.

Third: Chances are, any shirt that can fit my upper back was meant for someone with a much, much larger gut. So I tuck the shirt in? Sure, but the end result is that it tends to bunch up near the waist and it simply looks wrong. So you keep the shirt out? Now I just look like a twat, thanks.

Starting to get the picture? We’re not done yet. Let’s find a pair of trousers.

First: Let’s find a pair that’ll fit those beefy thighs of mine. Got em’? Okay.

Second: Oops, sorry. Those pants were meant for someone with, again, a much bigger gut. Great. So you use a belt to hold it up. But now the fabric around the waist and butt pops out. You end up looking like a dolt, holding up clown pants with a belt.

Fine, so let’s try it in the reverse order.

First: The waist. Easily done. Now put your legs through and what do you find?

Second: Oops, sorry. Those pants were meant for someone with Gluteus Maximus that’s not quite so maximal. Good luck jamming your chunky thighs through that sucker.

So I know what you’re thinking. A problem with no solution?

Hardly.

Let me explain my brilliant idea.

See, the secret (like all secrets in life, mind you) lies with the feminine sex. Quite a few women have slim waists. In fact, their waists expand up to a larger upper back and down to larger hips. This accounts for the large taper you might see in a woman’s shirt and pants.

And so the solution is simple.

Simple, yet genial.

I could — could — spend $1900 to have some hoity-toity Italian tailor make me clothes that fit.

Or I could just wear women’s clothing.

Tada.

Now, you may applaud.

a new formula

It’s like this: I wake up, put on my jeans and t-shirt, brush my teeth, and do my hair. Then I get out the can that’s labeled ‘Wit, Charm, Personality: New Long-Lasting Formula’, give myself a good spritz (or two, on bad days), and leave the house.

A few years ago, I was sitting next to a friend in the wee hours of the night — both of us, half asleep — when she said something to me I’ll never forget.

“Phil?”, she murmured.

“Mmmfff,” I mumbled.

“I don’t want to, like, pump up your ego…”

“…bigger than it already is?” I finished.

“Yeah…”

She paused for a good long while.

“I don’t know if you know this, but a lot of our friends think they’re lucky to be your friend.”

“Why?”

“Because they look up to you. Because there aren’t a lot of guys like you out there. You’re unique.”

I didn’t know what to say. So we both fell silent. And that was that.

To this day, that nightly exchange remains the sweetest, nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me. Ever.

But some days, some days like today, I get worried. I get worried because that side of me — the side people see — that’s not the whole story, right? When I’m out in public, I’m a completely different person. It’s not an act because acting requires some kind of conscious thought.

It’s just a different facet. It’s like this: I wake up, put on my jeans and t-shirt, brush my teeth, and do my hair. Then I get out the can that’s labeled ‘Wit, Charm, Personality: New Long-Lasting Formula’, give myself a good spritz (or two, on bad days), and leave the house.

It’s routine. It’s normal.

But the other side of me — that private, secluded guy — he’s completely different. He’s not a nice guy. He gets angry and depressed. He’s moody. Overthinks. Lacks confidence. Lacks perspective. And like that weird kid who works at the back of the post office, licking stamps, and mumbling to himself — he only comes out when nobody else is around.

I know it’s not just me. Chances are, you’re like this too.

In public, we all seem so well behaved, don’t we? So pulled together. We can be funny and charming, confident and successful. Our lives seem perfect. We’re beautiful like that.

But it worries me that one day, people will find out about this other side. This other person. They’ll find out that he’s not as smart, his jokes aren’t as funny, and he always wakes up with bad hair.

And then it’ll never be the same.