Suit shopping

Suit shopping today.

For me, not the rabbit.

My workhorse Marks & Spencer suit is moribund so Nadine took me into downtown Calgary to look for a replacement. I have specific needs (one of which is the capacity to hold four lemons in the trouser pockets without looking like I have elephantisis) and specific tastes (questionable, I hear) so we went to two upscale places.

The first was good.
"I need three buttons on the jacket," I said.
"You need a bespoke suit," said the young man.
Damn you, sir.
Seems no one these days carries three-button suits. In Calgary, at least. Surprising, given the city's sterling reputation as a leader on the world's sartorial stage.

The second shop, spread out over multiple floors and housing separate boutiques for each of the famous designer names, was less reassuring. The salesman, though pleasant, appeared vaguely lost as if he'd HAD the perfect suit for me, had it right here...just a moment ago...if I could only remember where I put it...along with all the fabric swatches...no, wait...

Not to mention the fact that at one point he held up a shiny pinstripe suit that Ziggy Stardust would have worn to a funeral and said, "Now THIS says 'magician' to me!"

Yes, your prices are better, Mr Banana-boat Shoe Man, but I worry that even with the help of your made-to-measure colleagues I will end up looking like Bucko the Clown at a parole hearing.

By the way, the photo above has nothing to do with suits. It's just another bunny pic.