Every sunday night for almost a year, I've gone out kilted to a certain bar in town.
There's no cover, a great band, and the friendliest regulars ever.
On a few occasions, I've been pleasantly surprised as the girls would dress to match me in their tartan skirts, etc., and I've even had one of the few kilt-lifting attempts in that bar foiled by a pretty young thing in pants "protecting my dignity", as she put it.
This past sunday night, I was feeling cantankerous and rancorous due to motorcycle-repair-related reasons [Gas tank developed sudden and severe leak while I was taking out the carbs and charging the battery. I was soaked in gasoline and praying for no sparks from the booster cables until I could extract myself and pull the plug]. I considered staying home, but I knew it was out of the question. I arrived [LATE!] at the bar, and my mood was instantly reversed. Not only were there some regulars back from trips, but there on the dance floor was another guy in a kilt!
He was enjoying himself, and managed to seem far less self-conscious than I'm sure I was the first time I went out kilted. He'd previously told me many times how he liked the kilt, and without any prodding from me, he took the leap, and made my night.
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