Before spending money to rent a tux, we go to my sister’s who could open her own tuxedo rental shop. Over the years, she has accumulated about seven tuxedos, in various sizes, from her three kids. We have a plan. Jacket first. If that fits (or is even close to fitting), we’ll go for the pants. My sister is petite, my brother-in-law is average, and their boys have always been big. Perfectly proportioned, well-toned, athletic, and big. They are all over six feet today, probably about 180 or so. Every tuxedo that Alexander tries on is ridiculously large on him. He looks like a little boy trying on his dad’s clothes. Finally, he puts on a jacket that we all agree is “workable,” meaning that with a few alterations, he could wear it. But when we unfold the matching pants, we realize that this tuxedo was probably for one of the boys when they were eight. Failing this mission, Alexander rents a tux.
Alexander gets ready and looks so handsome.
Later, I meet up with six friends for a gigantic Mexican dinner. I eat many many corn chips, just a little guacamole (fortunately it is hard to reach from where I’m sitting), and chicken fajitas with sour cream, more guacamole, and rice. I think it’s impossible to eat light at a Mexican restaurant. The company and food are great but not the ambiance. It’s stunningly hot. The manager’s explanation? “We just turned the air conditioning on for the first time this year and it doesn’t seem to be working well.” Outside the restaurant, across the street, is a traffic light. Every time it turns green it glows on Shari’s face. But inside the restaurant there is no light. I share my flashlight app with others just so we can read the menu. By the time dinner ends, we are all sweating.
Still, it’s a nice night, as we all commiserate with each other on how fast our kids have grown up.
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