For many of my CroonerEd shows, I am the roadie, strange hand, Uber driver, sound man, wardrobe consultant, accountant, and finally the entertainer. All of those guys usually do a pretty good job, but I need to fire my wardrobe consultant after my last show.
My “show” wardrobe consists of black pants, black or white shirt, black necktie, black shoes, black socks then take your pick of one of my sparkling coats. I have several sets of the pants, shirts and neckties trying to avoid to many trips to the laundry room.
Getting ready for my show this past weekend, I (the roadie) loaded my truck with all the needed audio/video equipment, grabbed the needed selections for my “wardrobe” and took off for the venue two hours away. I arrived at the venue in my roadie shorts and t-shirt with plenty of time to set up. About 15 minutes before showtime, I slipped away to get dressed for the show.
It wasn’t until I was in the dressing room that I realized I had brought a pair of black pants I must have purchased 30 pounds ago. Try as I may, there was absolutely no way those stupid pants would button around my waist nor could I get close to zipping them up. Stupid pants!
The clock is rapidly ticking away and I’m in the dressing room writhing like a fat contortionist trying to get my pants on. Finally, all I could do was synch them up as high as I could and pray my belt would keep my stupid pants in place. I knew one thing for sure; I’d be able to hit the high notes.
Thankfully, my sparkly blue coat hung down past my waist and covered most of the very embarrassing “wardrobe malfunction.” Thankfully the buckle held and I suppose the audience figured I always walk around as if I’m trying to hold a book between my knees.
The last time I saw those stupid pants was as I flung them into the GoodWill bin. Good luck to whoever gets them next.