D
dochawk
Guest
My groomsman had separately picked up their tuxes. It wasn’t until we walked out into my living room that we noticed that they didn’t match. Not even vaguely, to the point that a bunch of guys in their mid twenties noticed . . . even the shirts were different, mismatched, types, and someone’s shoes were so far from the ordered size (whereas I was in a pair of never before worn black western boots . . .)
So we headed to the store first. One of my most vivid memories of the day is my brother, the best man, pulling off his rented shirt as we ran into the store, after a conversation where he threatened to make a scene if they gave us any guff, and another friend grinning and asking, “can we make one anyway?”
:crazy_face:They quickly gave us what we wanted–even before they realized that they had four angry lawyers on their hands . . . (come to think of it, myu brother wasn’t a lawyer yet, so three and one more future lawyer).