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Jane’s niece is getting married soon. It’s a black-tie event in Nashville, Tennessee. I figured we could find a black tie without too much trouble, maybe even borrow one from a neighbor. Jane said black-tie means tuxedo. It seems the invitation would say tuxedo, but I didn’t argue. I could tell that her mind was made up.

She said we could rent one for around $150. I asked her who else had rented it. She had no idea. “Well,” I said, “I don’t believe I want to wear some clothes that maybe 50 other people that we don’t even know have already worn. And there’s no way I will pay $150 to use a suit for one night.”

“You want to buy a tuxedo?” she asked.

“Not all that much,” I replied, “but I’ll bet I can find one online for $150. Why not be a tux owner instead of a renter?”

“Good luck,” she said with a knowing smile.

I found a website with name-brand tuxedos at bargain prices. I almost hit the order button but decided to look at some reviews. Half the customers were delighted with their product. The other half had returned their outfits, and were wondering where their refunds were.

A major retailer in men’s clothing offered tuxedos for $500 or more. Then I saw a clearance item, a Wilke Rodriguez for $149.95. It looked like something Alan Jackson might wear to the CMA Awards. It was casket sharp, as my nephew Ben would say. Only one was in stock. I hoped I wasn’t too late.

I checked to make sure it was black, not Steve Martin Navy, as in Father of the Bride. The color was right, the size was right, the price was right. I had fought the system and won.

The coat fit perfectly. The pants, however, were a size 40, not the 38 that I expected. Monique said that was the only size available in this clearance item.

We took the pants to a company store in Albany for alteration. A very accommodating gentleman named Ed helped us. He looked at the coat and said that the pants should be size 38. “That’s what I thought,” I said, “but Monique said they only come in size 40.”

Ed went to his computer, saying he believed he could straighten this out. I asked him if I needed a belt or just suspenders.

He said, “Tuxedo pants don’t have belt loops.” I told him mine did. Ed looked at the pants and told us they weren’t tux pants. Besides the belt loops, they were missing the satin stripes. With a few clicks on the computer, Ed took care of everything.

We were so thankful for Ed’s help that we bought two more sport coats, a tux shirt, bowtie, suspenders, handkerchief, socks, and cufflinks. I’ve already spent $664.83, plus Jane and Ed are both telling me that I can’t wear my brown boots.

I’m not so sure now that I really beat the system. But I feel good knowing that I won’t have to rush to the store on Monday and turn in my outfit. Next Sunday, I may be the best dressed man at church. Mr. Wilke Rodriquez will be staying with us for a long time.

My longtime friend, Jerry Sinyard, built our home in 2001. I thought the unpainted color of the cement planks looked fine. Jane, however, was not interested in the natural look.   She brought home a lot of paint samples to dab on the boards. She would ask Jerry’s opinion, to which he would always wisely reply, “If you like it, then I like it.”

I am convinced that sample number 27 was the exact same factory standard light green that we tried in test number one. The difference was that Jane created it by combining 9 colors. I’m not one to argue about paint, so please don’t mention this to her.

Someone told us that paint on cement siding would look fine for 12 to 15 years. Jane heard 12. I heard 15.   I stalled her those three years, telling her that I would paint the house when I retired. I delayed a few more months, as she again sought out the perfect color. She didn’t think the sample number 27 paint formula, the one that we had secured in our safety deposit box, was exactly what we wanted. Times had changed. The paint needed a dot more of something, a hint of some indefinable color.

Our home has two stories. I’m a one-story guy. I don’t like heights.  When I was a child my parents took my brother Jimmy and me to The Macon Fair every October. My favorite part of the Ferris wheel was when it began stopping to let people off. I knew the odds were getting better that I would survive.

I wondered if the wild looking guy who had carelessly snapped our safety bar in place, had also put this contraption together. Had he tightened all the nuts and bolts? Had he checked for worn parts and frayed cables? He just didn’t look dependable. Back in the 1950’s, dependable folks weren’t covered with tattoos or sporting ducktails. He had it all.

Before I began painting our second story, Jane heard voices coming from our office. “What in the world are you watching?” she asked. “Ladder safety videos,” I replied. She thought that was funny. I considered it prudent and knew that thousands of OSHA employees were on my side.

The videos were helpful, filled with facts about safety. Their entertainment value, however, was a bit weak. I toyed with the idea of writing a short safety manual that might be a little more fun to read. When I started writing, I realized that a lot of the principals of ladder safety could also be applied to daily living, something I call Paint Can Theology. Solid ground, for example, is important for both ladders and life.

There is a disclaimer in the book, noting that it is not recommended for professional painters or theologians. If you fit either of those two categories, then I beg you not to buy it. Otherwise, you might enjoy climbing a few rungs.

The hardest part of painting our house was getting started. The second hardest part is getting finished. Now that I have a weekly column to write, the painting will just have to wait. Besides, Jane is looking at paint samples for the front door. “It needs a little more green,” she said, “or maybe a tad of black.” Perhaps I have time to get a few columns ahead.

Doster Fitzgerald is taking a break from his weekly column to focus on writing a couple of books.   The Rooster has been a friend ever since we took a Dale Carnegie course together over 30 years ago. He graduated with honors. I got a certificate of attendance.

I never mastered the techniques they taught for remembering names. I found out it’s easier to just call the guys Bubba, Slick, Chief, or Doc. For the ladies, I usually just say Ma’am. I have some longtime friends and family that I don’t know their real names. Maybe I’ll take that Carnegie course again one day. It’s probably too late to ask for a refund.

At the end of 2015, I retired from banking. The first 33 years were with Bank of Dooly. The last two were with South Georgia Banking Company which acquired Bank of Dooly. Before that, I worked five years with my cousin, Rooney Bowen. He owned the Chevrolet dealership in Vienna, plus the funeral home that was next door. I have sometimes been introduced as a recovering car salesman.  Rehab efforts continue and have been partially successful.

I’m not sure what direction this column will take. We’ll just see which way the wind is blowing and try to follow it. We may even pull our caps down a little tighter and walk straight into it. There are times it feels good to have the wind at our backs, times it feels good blowing in our faces. We’ll give them both a chance.

When I retired from banking, I began painting our home. That experience was so thrilling that I wrote a book about it, Lessons from The Ladder. It’s about ladder safety and painting, with some correlations to life that I call Paint Can Theology. I plan to write a few columns based on the book.

Lessons of other varieties may be an ongoing theme, such as Lessons from The Lenders. I was known as the banker who couldn’t say, “no”. I turned down a couple of loan requests, but that was over a 35-year period. When I announced my retirement, the bank examiners threw a party.

Perhaps I’ll write a column on Lessons from The Bladder. Dr. Lyons has taught me more about urology than I wanted to know. I found out that a digital exam has nothing to do with mathematics. Boy was that a shocker. My friend and managing editor, Angela Barentine, may not let me run that column.  She already nixed the idea of using Tom Selleck’s picture for my photo.

I’ll work toward a column that is entertaining enough to keep you awake, but we’ll delve into some serious issues at times. If you are not sure which category a column falls in, then send me a short email. Sometimes I’m not certain whether I’m serious or if I’m kidding. My wife, Jane, usually knows, so we can always ask her.

I sure hope you’ll come back next week.

Neil