As many of you know, my hub has been Cliff’s “Mentor” this summer. Besides the fact that they’re the same age and spent most of the summer trying to smack each other with dishtowels while they were doing the washin’ up and had many mentorship meetings over a backgammon board, their school of higher learning somehow thought my hub was qualified for this job.
So, the other day he gets an e-mail from the head guy of the program asking my hub for his jacket size and address. Jacket size? All we can think is that in return for all of his “work” mentoring the “young” this summer, he’ll get a jacket. And we bet it’ll have an emblem embroidered on the pocket.
It’ll be kind of like the Master’s green jacket. Tiger can wear that into Wal-Mart and everyone knows he’s someone special. Now my hub can wear his jacket into the downstairs butcher or the neighborhood street market and everyone will stop and stare. They’ll know he’s someone important.
We’re not sure if they’ll ship this jacket all the way to Central Asia. Or how long it’ll take to get here if they do. And my hub doesn’t particularly want an emblemed jacket from his alma mater. So, we’ve asked my dad for his jacket size. We’re going to send it to him instead. I think it’ll fit in a bit better in the hallowed sanctuaries and business meetings of East Texas instead of the public transportation and the tea gardens of Central Asia.
But, if they end up sending something cool and it’s in my dad’s size instead of my hub’s, he might be very disappointed. I guess we just have to take our chances. Likewise, my mom will be taking her chances in giving me my dad’s jacket size. It may end up being a vivid purple suit or something in a houndstooth pattern with leather patches on the elbow. And he would wear it. And, if it had leather patches on the elbows my hub would be really disappointed that he didn’t get it in his size after all. The fashion fate of the men in my life hangs upon the hook of their jacket size.