I hate to admit it, but I think I misplaced my man card. I don’t know what I did with it. One day I’m hitting and kicking the heavy bag, and watching UFC on cable. The next thing I know I’m watching “Randy To The Rescue” and actually enjoying it! Randy Fenoli of “Say Yes To The Dress” is a rather, shall we say, flamboyant, elfin sort of gent who helps women pick out their wedding dress. I hadn’t realized that it was easier to get the Democrats and the Republicans to pass a bill in Congress than it was to pick out a wedding dress. When I go looking for a suit it’s either the blue one with grey stripes or the grey one with blue stripes. The end. Wedding dresses, on the other hand, require an entire entourage of women who advise, insult, cajole, and finally approve the dress. Fascinating. Fascinating in that these dresses can cost thousands of dollars. A huge sum for something that will be worn once for a few hours and then thrown into the closet. For that kind of money I could put a down payment on the ’57 Thunderbird I have my eyes on.
As I’m watching this, I find myself making bets with my wife as to which dress the girl is going to pick. Before I lost my man card I would have voted for the one that revealed the maximum amount of cleavage and was rather tight around the butt. But now I’m torn between the silk organza gown and the ivory colored one with classic lace. Or how about the princess gown? That one looked good too. When the girl who was a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader finally made her decision I actually high fived my wife in celebration! Randy was punching the air and prancing around the set in jubilation.
I must admit that Randy does have pretty good taste. After all, this is a guy who started sewing when he was nine years old. He must have very understanding parents. He also attended The Fashion Institute of Technology. I’m quite certain he didn’t attend FIT on a football scholarship.
Enough is enough. This has gone on way too far. I need to find my man card. It’s neither near my barbells nor my stack of Men’s Health magazines. Oh, there it is, underneath my boxing gloves. Whew that was close, I almost DVR’d Project Runaway! Now if I can just find my car keys.