The Paisley Tie

Even though today is an informal day for me at work, I am wearing a red paisley tie, not so much to impress my co-workers, a group of people who show disdain for me in a new way on a daily basis. No, I am wearing this tie to honor my fallen brothers and sisters.

Falling is never easy or fun, but the ironic thing is, it is often funny. This morning, wearing my paisley tie of memory, I was crossing Grant Avenue and a pesky little brick jumped right out of its place and tripped me. I splattered across the crosswalk. I'd imagine I will have some scratching and possibly some bruising, but mostly my ego has been damaged by the sneers and laughter from the car dwelling populace.

Of course, because I am a genetic link to neanderthal man, I immediately jumped to my feet, forgetting the pain and humiliation, grabbed my briefcase, my cup of spilled coffee and my now cracked cell phone. I briskly walked to the corner, nothing to see here, no injuries, nothing, move about your daily business.

I am not sure where the paisley tie came from.

A couple of days ago I was in the closet, and let me stop right there and demand that phrase back from the gays. Dammit, you see how the gays continue to ruin everything? Why, just this past saturday I had a gay old time. But I can not tell you I had a gay old time. Nor can I mention that I lit a fag while having a gay old time. Or that at some point a very queer man approached me and questioned how I was able to continuously have a gay old time while lighting fags.

See what I mean? Dear Gay Mafia, we need some words back for the sake of this blog, plus, I need to admit I was in the closet looking for clothes, without sounding like I was hiding my sexual preference, which I would never do, ask my wife, Beardy McBeardsly, whom, if you know anything, I purchased on the now defunct website, drunkenirishlasses.com.

There I was, stuck in the closet, trying to find a tie to wear and the paisley seemed to call my name. I had never seen the tie before. Now, recently, I was getting dressed and there was this pair of underwear type of device in my underwear drawer, a pair of some sort of jock strap, underwear mix that I never had seen before, and for the life of me, I have no idea where it could have come from, but there it was, so I figured like anyone else would, in such a situation, that those kinky freaky functionless undies were mine, which they most certainly were not, but I put them on and wore them then entire uncomfortable day. Just to prove a point. I think.

Many decades ago, during a terrible argument with a very dear friend, I made a decision that has haunted me ever since. I decided that this great and smart person could not longer be my friend. So I decided to walk away. As I was leaving, for whatever reason, I grabbed a paisley tie and put it in my pocket. Then, for many years, I would sometimes wear the tie on interviews or to work. I would cherish it as a token of a lost friendship that seemed to have boundless potential. The tie was my link to a life changed in an instant.

The paisley tie I am wearing today is probably not the same tie. That paisley tie would have had to survive a lifetime of abuse in just 10 years. No, this tie, much like the undies of no known ownership, is a tie left here to both torment and ornament me. Today, while serving as ornamentation, it decided to change things up and cross me up in an intersection. While I could be more of a man and not blame the tie, instead I will just say this, the paisley tie can be found in the public garbage can at Grant and Sixth Avenue, wear it at your own risk.