It all started when Uncle George Henry died...

My uncle was a fireman. He would go to the fires, and he would inhale like the big bad wolf, and he'd huff, and he'd puff, and he'd blow the flames out. They called him Iron Lung, because he had asthma. He is since "late."


Uncle George Henry. He told all sorts of stories...to my Dad. I never met him. He was bright; all of my Dad's family are smart people. They're sorrowful, bitter drunkards, though.

Anyway, when he died, he left behind a bunch of junk. And I mean it. This guy collected washers. Rusted washers. I mean ROUND RINGS OF METAL. He also collected beer mugs. Cracked beer mugs. And keyrings with old, useless keys on them. Rusted keys. And odd-threaded and shaped bolts, and accompanying odd nuts which were stripped, rusted and broken in half. Rusted odd nuts which were stripped, rusted and broken in half. He used not a few baby wipes. He kept everything in baby wipe boxes. Rusted baby wipe boxes. Nuts, bolts, dust, rust, old 1/4" pieces of string (for decoration? I guess he liked to dress up his "trinkets"), keyring cozies, old frozen bottles of super glue (he'll use them someday), and on and on.


Amongst these "trinkets," as my Dad frothing-at-the-mouthingly refers to them, was a pile of clothes. In these clothes was a really nice suit. Pants. Vest. Jacket. All matching. "Well, howdy-wow-wow!" I exclaimed. If you think that is dumb, I actually liked Pokemon! I had a poster on my wall! EWW GROSS!


I liked the suit...I was 11 or so. My Mom was working at the Arizona Hall for Higher Sites at that time, and they have an annual Lottery Ball. You go, you gamble, you go home. "Hey Kev," she said. "Do you want to serve as a waiter?"

Hah hah hah. Like I would eve- "Sure I would, Mommy!" NO!


As so many of my childhood decisions were made. I wore my brain on my sleeve. Where it could not function as the decision center of my body. One time, I jumped off of a house onto the hood of a Mercury Grand Marquis. Did I mention that the only sweater I owned (which had the sleeve I wore my brain on) was stored in the mold-ridden shed under a pile of hate? That's where my brain was.

So we went to the ball. The lottery ball. We brought...peanut butter cookies. Ew. Peanut butter cookies make me sick. I was wearing some shoes...I think...I think we might have stopped by the Your Local Short Gay Man Shoe Store and bought me some shoes. I was having a ball!

Until one old lady threatened to hit me over the head with her cane. I asked her what she wanted (I was a waiter! A short waiter! Height! Easily struck by cane!), and she tried to hit me. Needless to say, I peed my pants. AW, MAN! I thought as I hobbled to the bathroom. Later I emerged, only to find my shoe untied. I walked around dazedly with it for a while, wisely avoiding Cane Lady. I was suddenly having a bad night.

One set of old people needed some food, and I forgot their order. God help me, I got to the "order-filling-deck," and the guy asked me what they wanted. He spoke in a growl, and when I hesitated, he flipped. "HRAAHH!" he screamed, booming with pent-up rage. "Uhm, uh," I struggled. "HRAAAAAAAAAAAWGH!!!" he screamed, leaning and reaching over the counter menacingly, swinging at me wildly with the spatula, trying his best to hit me. "CABBAGE AND POTATO!" I screamed in a high pitch, eyes filling with horrified tears. I took the people's food to them.

"What's wrong, deary?" the lady asked. "OH, I JUST ALMOST WET MY PANTS AGAIN, AND NOW I CAN'T STOP CRYING!" I stated, my gaze fixed far-off and speaking in a loud, shellshocked voice. I had not blinked since I ordered the food; I went to relax by the water cooler.

Ahh. Safe, I thought. I wanted to crawl inside that cool water. Then, much too soon after I breathed that sigh of relief: "Hey, are you a gay?" some guy asked. I looked up at him. "Uhh, ..." I began. "Wow, so young and so puh-roud!" he gushed. Looking back, it was the shoes; they had "Gay and PROUD!" stitched on the front! THANKS A LOT MOM! YOUR LOCAL SHORT GAY MAN SHOE STORE, HUH?

But...at the time, I had no idea what he meant. "What?" I said. He had left; I guess I froze. By this time, I was just not having fun at all; and when I poured myself some water, I was reminded that my shoe was untied. So I bent over to tie it. You can guess what happened next- my pants ripped!


"Oh, man!" I wailed. Worse, the crotch had ripped out...along the zipper, I believe. Did I mention that along with everything else that Uncle GH had that was rusted, the suit was rusted, too? Like, the cloth? On second thought, maybe he didn't collect junk. Maybe he collected rust.

I took off my jacket and held it in front of me and slumped to my Mom's office. "Oh, I can sew that right up, son...let me go tell my friends, and ask them if they have any sewing supplies with them!"

I smacked my forehead.

Then Mom's coworker, a guy, comes in. "Hey, how's it going, Sammy."

"Kev," I corrected.

"Did you have a nice time at the ball, Sammy?" he ignored.

"Well," I began. "Not completely." He rolled over. The beauty of office chairs. "Tell me about it," he said. "Well, it all began when I was BORN!" I began loudly, then I broke down crying. He walked away after a few minutes.


The rest is a total, complete blur. Hazy. Perhaps my Mom can say what happened next, as I can only remember leaving.


Anyways, why do I tell you this? Well, when Uncle George Henry died, his stuff became haunted. Maybe he just wanted to make my life hard, or maybe he just never really liked me, or maybe I am just exaggerating. But his stuff- and these pants- were, like, Buster Halfrou haunted, and believe me, you're done at that point. Do you know how many people ripped their pants at that ball that day due to a rusted zipper?

One.

Do you know how many people peed all over themselves at the ball that day?

One.

Do you know how many haunted, demon-possessed suits there were at that ball that day?

One.

Fill in the gaps. I did not wear that suit. I was in that suit. It wore me. Bad time had by Kev.



Why do I post this? Well, today I wore a suit. I think it is the first time since the "Uncle GH's haunted suit" incident I wore a suit. Nothing ripped. Everyone was jealous, the guys were looking nervous, shuffling and stuff, etc. About 30 people asked me where my wife was. "I'm not married!" I said. "Oh, well, you should be- that's a nice tie!"


Nice tie, indeed. My brother also wore a suit. My Great grandmother passed away on Friday night, an hour after her 93rd birthday party. We are getting comfortable wearing our suits for that purpose and my parents' upcoming wedding. It will be the first funeral I've ever been to. Except that time I crawled on that dead, male witch.

...thanks a lot for that priceless experience, Dad...