Christian

In all my fascination with peoples' outfits over the years, nothing could have prepared me for the sheer astonishment I felt upon running into my proudly alcoholic friend Christian yesterday. Christian had just checked himself out of his umpteenth detox facility, and, as you can see in this picture, he is still wearing the "scrubs" they give the patients in those facilities. I was immediately jealous of his outfit, but, knowing me, I would probably buy a set of psych ward scrubs and then be too ashamed to wear them. (Like most of the clothes my sister has ever bought me, and most of my more haute couture rash purchases, which hang in my closet, unworn). I do have a deeply developed sense of fashion shame, born from an Episcopalian upbringing and my mother's endless admonishments about my effeminacy.

I am currently reading Margaret Drabble's forthcoming memoir THE PATTERN IN THE CARPET, which is why I think I have used the words "admonishments" and "umpteenth" in this post.

My friend Christian keeps hinting that his sexuality might be a bit fluid, which titillates me ... even if ever so slightly. Looking at this picture, don't you agree that a downward spiral has never looked yummier?