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February 21, 2002 bonding There is something sad, uncommonly sad, about donning a tuxedo without the help of a loving woman. Women are accustomed to getting dolled up and they prefer to get dressed alone.  If they are alone, it means we aren't there rushing them and making snide comments about the lateness of the hour.  Men, on the other hand, crave companionship while getting dressed up.  When a man puts on a tuxedo, for example, he wants a partially-clad, sweet-smelling woman standing before him fastening his cufflinks and buttoning his studs.  He needs a woman to straighten his bowtie, take a step back, and say, "you look handsome!"  They usually mean it or, at least, they mean we clean up nice. I was alone when I put on my tux for a choral performance tonight.  Standing in front of a full-length mirror, I had no one looking at me but my own dapper-ass reflection.  There was nobody to tell me I looked handsome or even that I clean up nice.  So I gave myself a wink, tugged at my French cuffs, straightened my bowtie, and said aloud, "Bond.  James Bond."

©  2002 by the beastmaster