Normally, the perfect quip floats into my addled brain no sooner than an hour after it could have been helpful. Witty banter – got it. Sly flirtations – got those too. The response to those in need of a substantive verbal smack down without my need to be humble or self-deprecating – delivered with half my brain cells tied in hung-over knots behind my back. The one-liner that balances snarkasm (the evolutionary cross between snark and sarcasm,) brings the funny, and puts another very gently in his/her place – yeah that one always arrives too late.
I started thinking about this after reading this post from My Other Favorite Lemon where she had the perfect conversation ending response to her soon-to-be Father-In-Law. This has happened precisely one time in my life.
If you have read this post, or this one, or even this one, it is no surprise that I favor suits (editorial aside: I once got the best costume award at a friend’s Halloween Party by arriving in costume of denim overalls, t-shirt, and red handkerchief flowing from my back pocket.) At a happy hour hosted by this very cool gent and predominantly populated by casually dressed political progressives and their ilk, I happened to be wearing one of my favorite bespoke duds.
While waiting for a cocktail at the bar, a well packaged casually dressed gentleman that I have met once or twice playfully asked me “Refugee, what does it feel like to always be the only guy in the room in a suit?” After a pausing for a beat to think, I said with a wink “like the rest of you mutherfuckers are underdressed.”