They wandered into the restaurant with purpose, determination and if I’m honest, laughable coordination. She was thin, very thin, he was fat, very fat. As they read the menu he kept touching her. A gentle squeeze of the hand, a rub down the back, an occasional tickle of the ear with a movement like a maid dusting a vase. Quirky to the extreme and (bless him) exceptionally chivalrous.
She wore extraordinary glasses, black and orange, giving her the bizarre appearance of some sort of exotic insect, accentuated by the fervent way she sucked her G&T up through a straw. He was probably a banker and in all probability, a rich one with a penchant for fatty foods, neatly and uncomfortably encapsulated in his suit, like a pistachio bursting from its shell. But what struck me was their coordination.
“In a moment,” I said to my wife, “glance over your shoulder. The couple over there are in matching pin-striped suits. What would lead anyone to do that?”
She waited a moment. “Some couples like to coordinate outfits,” she said, glancing over my own attire as if to remind us that we were not that type of couple.
I’m not one to psychoanalyse (I’d never do that) but seriously, why would any couple wear matching pin-striped suits? Matching to the extent that the stripes were of equal thickness and frequency, fitted no doubt by the same tailor, she in a black blouse, he in a black shirt. In a game of Suit Snap it would be, well, unequivocally snap.
“What shall we wear tonight darling?”
“How about our matching Levis and white shirts?”
“What are we, a pair of Texans? Besides, it’s a slightly up-market Italian place, how about our identical green polo-necks?”
“They’re both in the wash, we wore those on Tuesday remember? Let’s go for our matching pin-striped suits.”
“Excellent idea, and they fit so perfectly too, I LOVE that tailor.”
“Nobody should ever be that coordinated. It’s hilarious,” I said. “Mind if I take a few notes?”
“Suit yourself,” said my wife, “I’m going to the ladies’ room”.

They wandered into the restaurant with purpose, determination and if I’m honest, laughable coordination. She was thin, very thin, and he was fat, very fat. As they read the menu he kept touching her. A gentle squeeze of the hand, a rub down the back, an occasional tickle of the ear with a movement like a maid dusting a vase. Quirky to the extreme and (bless him) exceptionally chivalrous.

She wore extraordinary glasses, black and orange, giving her the bizarre appearance of some sort of exotic insect, accentuated by the fervent way she sucked her G&T through a straw. He was probably a banker and in all probability, a rich one with a penchant for fatty foods. Neatly and uncomfortably encapsulated in his suit, he looked like a pistachio bursting from its shell. But what struck me was their coordination.

“In a moment,” I said to my wife, “glance over your shoulder. The couple over there are in matching pin-striped suits. What would lead anyone to do that?” She waited a moment. “Some couples like to coordinate outfits,” she said, glancing over my own attire as if to remind us that we were not that type of couple.

I’m not one to psychoanalyse (would I ever?) but seriously, why would any couple wear matching pin-striped suits? Matching to the extent that the stripes were of equal thickness and frequency, fitted no doubt by the same tailor, she in a black blouse, he in a black shirt. In a game of Suit Snap it would be, well, unequivocally snap.

“What shall we wear tonight darling?”

“How about our matching Levis and white shirts?”

“What are we, a pair of Texans? Besides, it’s a slightly up-market Italian place, how about our identical green polo-necks?”

“They’re both in the wash, we wore those on Tuesday remember? Let’s go for our matching pin-striped suits.”

“Excellent idea, and they fit so perfectly too, I LOVE that tailor, and it will give us that dubious Mafia look.”

“Nobody should ever be that coordinated. It’s hilarious,” I said. “Mind if I take a few notes?”

“Suit yourself,” said my wife, and I might have noticed a slight eyeball-roll. “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said.





  • Share/Bookmark