I felt the icy touch of own mortality today as I donned the long, black jacket that was a gift from my brother. He had said, “You can wear this jacket over a suit.” Which at the time I thought, sure, okay, cool.
But today I had to wear a sportcoat because it was time for my company’s monthly networking event. I was able to drape my new jacket over the rest of the outfit, and I thought, This is a very mature jacket. By wearing this jacket over formal attire, one ends up being very presentable. One no longer has to cram one’s suit underneath a tight leather jacket, as though one is packing a parachute.
Or, you know, one might even make a worse impression than that.
“Hi, I’m Greg. Thanks for coming to our monthly networking event.”
“Uh, sure. What the hell do you have stashed underneath your leather jacket there? Is your sportcoat all bunched up?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m, uh, packing away food and nutrients in case the presentation runs a little long. It operates on the same principle as a camel’s hump.”
So it’s a smart move, this jacket. But it’s so...adult.
And then it hit me:
I’ve gotten to the point where I wear serious jackets.
I’m going to die soon.
Youth is melting away from my face like the Nazis’ heads at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Wearing this coat is like wearing a shroud. A shroud of doom.
I should just paint a skull and crossbones on the back of it.
But then I stopped a moment. And collected my thoughts. And I realized:
It’s also possible that if I were walk down the street playing the flute, children would swarm out after me. I don’t know for sure, but I have a good feeling about it.
So maybe I have a few last embers of youth after all. And besides, the coat is cool.
Although I really need to remember to fix my collar.
Posted by Greg at 09:10 PM on 01/13/04