White Slacks

Rena and Keith Kimball's summer luau bash cost 'em 20-grand last year, so I figured the least I could do was to arrive fashionably attired in white slacks tailored perfectly to the break of my navy blue deck shoes, replete with my prized, vintage Tommy Bahama silk Hawaiian for which I impulsively paid $600 at auction.

 One of those party conversation snippets that successfully finds your ear without trying found mine, as I overheard Rena--with her back to me--saying, "...slacks make him look like Moby-Ass...or an Imax screen with the house lights up."

My feelings would have been hurt, except I know vengeance isn't mine but the Lord's, and I'm earnest about wanting to be honest and truthful and forthright, a harbinger of my faith.


Consoling my ego outside, I leaned up against the pool house and instantly realized the mistake, turning to brush off my buttocks with my hand, when I suddenly locked eyes with Keith through the small window.


He was 'getting head,' receiving an oral compliment from Rena's twin, Nina, and as he came blasting out the door next to me, glaring at me with the look, he inadvertantly bumped the door jamb spilling his umbrella'ed red drink on my slacks, missing my shirt by scant millimeters.


I sauntered inside suffering glares at my stained slacks, and over to Rena, "Do you think Keith thought it was you giving him head just now in the pool house, cuz like, Nina's not even in a matching mu'u-mu'u," which ensured 2 things: Keith's divorce will probably cost him close to 4 mill, and I won't get an invitation to next year's bash [blaming the messenger for the message, and oh I so hate that] but, hey, I paid 49 bucks for those pants...plus tax.