They threw in the haggis for free

My lovely, lovely kilt finally came. Cross that resolution off the list. Aren't those some fantastic legs I got me there?

As I mentioned before, once I was introduced to the kilt, I stopped wearing a regular tuxedo. As my mother's side is Scottish (Patterson - a sept of Clan MacLaren, I have at least a tenuous claim to wear a legitimate tartan. (I've also worn the Irish national tartan as a tribute to the Grady side, but let's face it: a "national tartan" for Ireland is kind of like an "official wigwam" for a Swede. It's all in the marketing.)

Getting a kilt made to order was a blast, but you should be aware that there a number of mandatory accessories that go along with it. See those shoes with the wacky laces? But my favorite is by far and away the sporran. For the ignorant reader, that's the furry purse which hangs in front of my groin. Kilts don't come with pockets, after all, and you have to have someplace to put your flask.

This one is especially nice - when I asked the guy at the kilt store what was traditional, he told me badger fur, with the badger head acting as the flap, a la Cruella de Ville. Badger heads being scarce in the shops these days, I asked him what was next on my list of options.

"Seal? Like the fur of a seal?"
"Aye. Seal. It's the best."
"Isn't seal hunting illegal or something?"
"Not here. The great Robbie Burns said that there's nae like a wee seal to make a man's sporran."
"Awesome. Club one for me."

Never argue with a Scot when he starts talking Burns. I've got to admit, the thing is sinfully soft.