Scenes from Cincinnati

**Rex_Tremende** · 25th June 06, 12:52 PM

Welcome to my world:

Saturday, June 17:
I am on my way to my friend Marty’s birthday party in my SWK black Stewart. I have just left the gift shop where I picked up a card for the occasion when two women on a horse-drawn carriage approach me. The driver waves over to me, saying she has a question. Uh-oh, I think.

Driver: “I like your kilt. Where can I get one?”
Me: “For a man or lady?”
Driver: “A man. It’s for my 17 year old son. He really wants one.”

How cool is that? So across the distance between us we discuss Stillwater kilts and other sources. I mention Xmarks as a reference. Her friend takes mental notes. I wish her luck and we both make our respective ways. In the course of the evening’s events, our paths cross two more times; we wave to each other as friends.

I arrive at the restaurant where the party is to be held. We gather in the bar. A bridal shower party is also gathering. I step up to the bar to order a Coke. As I’m waiting for my drink, I turn to see one of the girls aiming her cell phone at me. I smile; she looks guilty. The phone flashes.

A bit later, a woman is staring at me with a big smile. When we make eye contact, she approaches me and says:

“I wish I had my camera with me tonight…” How about that, everyone wants my picture. “…I’d take a picture up your kilt and add it to my collection.” She explained she had a special photo album.
What kind of a sicko are you, I wonder. “What makes you think I’d permit you to do that?” I ask.
Demented woman: “Oh, I’d do it when you weren’t looking.”
Me: “How would you like it if someone did that to you if you were wearing a skirt? If I tried something like that, I’d get arrested.” Her face knits up for a split second then brightens again.
Demented woman: “Well, the first time I did this, it was in Germany, and it was my friend in the kilt,” she explained, implying that those Europeans are not as uptight and that somehow justified it. “It was really funny! It was just a perfect shot!”
Me: “That doesn’t sound very funny to me.”
Demented woman, lowering her voice and moving closer, getting conspiratorial: “Seriously, are you wearing your kilt the proper way?”
Me, getting more irritated: “That’s really none of your business.”
Demented woman: “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Me: “Listen, a lady doesn’t ask, and a wench already knows, so which one are you?” The tables are being seated, so I move away.

It turns out she’s a friend of Marty’s. We do not speak to each other the rest of the evening.

Later, at Shooters, the bar where we do our country-western line-dancing thing, a fellow keeps staring at me. Before long, he approaches me and says:

“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Me: “Sure.”
He: “Are you wearing anything under your kilt?”
Me: “You can’t ask that question.”
He: “Oh, I can’t?” He looks sad, and returns to his stool.

Saturday, June 24:
I return to Shooters, this time in my black UK mocker with a black and yellow tropical shirt. Iolaus said, “No rhinestones,” but I found in my jewelry box a dark purple and black enameled flamingo pin with a few purple stones to pin on the apron, just because. Anymore these days, I will wear a kilt to Shooters more often than not, so you’d think that people would be used to it. But tonight there is an inordinate amount of curiosity about what I have on under my UK. I decide, under the circumstances – these are friends and it is just friendly ribbing – that the price-list answer is the best approach (for a buck I’ll tell you, for five I’ll show you, and for ten you can find out for yourself). So far, I’ve only made one buck this way.

My friend Dan says, “Please tell Bryan I looked under your kilt. He will pay me ten dollars if you do.”
“That’s what *I* charge,” I say. The deal is off.

I have just left the dance floor in search of the AC. I pass my friends Don and Tim, and Don says, “I want to see what’s under your kilt!” I give him the price list. “Well, Tim will pay me twenty!” As expected, no money is produced. I keep moving.

Jerry is sitting by the AC. He tells me precisely where I should stand to get the maximum benefit, and then suggests that I’d get more air if I hiked my kilt. I tell him the rates. He hands me his wallet

. To his astonishment, Jerry finds out how deep the pockets are on a UK, but nothing else, since he took the wallet back.

A fellow in a tux shirt, enjoying Long Island Iced Tea, approaches me and slurs, “Wow, I didn’t expect to see more kilts tonight! I just came from a wedding where all the bridesmen were wearing kilts.”

Me: “Groomsmen, you mean?”
Tux: “Yeah. They looked great! Kilts are everywhere tonight!”
Me: You betcha.
Later, Tux, even more lubricated: “Are you wearing anything under that?”
Me: “When you get your own kilt, you will know the answer.”
Sloppy Tux: “If I wore one, I wouldn’t.”
Me: “And there you have it.”

Peter, an out-of-town visitor, asks me to two-step. He says with a wink he's never danced with a man in a skirt before, but tells me how great the kilt looks when I’m dancing. I thank him and say that it’s really more comfortable to dance in than jeans. He asks if I’ve seen the pictures floating around the internet – he means the revealing ones. Of course, I have. He presumes aloud that I am wearing my kilt “the proper way,” but I demur by saying nothing. “You look so good in that,” he says, “you could start a trend!”

“Let’s hope so,” I answer as I swing him through the corners.

Around 1:00 in the morning, another kilt walks in with its occupant, along with the appropriate hose, flashes, Rob Roy sporran, and pins. This one appears to be a more traditional-looking 5-yard wool in possibly a solid dark brown or maybe black – the lighting made it difficult to tell for sure. The wearer had been to the bar a few months ago in a different kilt.

“I almost had to go home and change,” he said when I approached him.
Me: “Why’s that?”
Kilt: “Because you are wearing my kilt.”
Me: “I am not. This is a Utilikilt, but yours is clearly not.”
Kilt: “This is a utilikilt. Utilikilts come in hundreds of styles. I’ve seen these in leather, with studs, and all sorts of ways.”
Me, realizing that he meant contemporary kilt, pointing to nearly invisible embroidery on the rear pocket: “I mean this a brand of kilt, and yours looks to be more traditional.”
Kilt, picking up – and then dropping – a pleat of my kilt: “Well, I’m sure that mine was more expensive than yours.”
Me: “No doubt. Where did you have it made?”
Kilt: “I don’t recall. Somewhere north of here.”

I returned to the dance floor and the kilt and its affable, but confused, owner disappeared.

**Riverkilt** · 25th June 06, 01:26 PM

Thank you Rex, that was fun...sort of.

You made me grateful that in a small town the kilt questions dwindle after a while.

Ron

**Blu (Ontario)** · 25th June 06, 03:08 PM

There are many people that have difficulties with the concept of men wearing kilts even when sober. Add intoxicating beverages and things can get downright blurred. I thought you handled yourself pretty well under the circumstances.

.

**smaughazard** · 25th June 06, 04:54 PM

Blu's right:

Kilt + alcohol – inhibitions = The Question, every time.

**Panache** · 25th June 06, 05:02 PM

Rex,

I love hearing about other people's experiences as they walk about kilted. You have a good sense of humor and it sounds like you have the art of poise down (poise being defined as the raising of one's eyebrows and not the roof ). Both along with a good dose of self confidence are required for successfully wearing the kilt.

Cheers

**TechBear** · 27th June 06, 06:27 AM

Originally Posted by Rex_Tremende

I decide, under the circumstances – these are friends and it is just friendly ribbing – that the price-list answer is the best approach (for a buck I’ll tell you, for five I’ll show you, and for ten you can find out for yourself).

You sell yourself cheap :rolleyes: But if you ever want to seriously advertise... http://www.cafepress.com/kiltwear/1125735