Are you going regimental?

The last wearing of my favorite underpants ever

Dave was the first to fall.

In my adult life, he was the first to get married.

We were still in university, or barely just finished.

I was so green in the world, the bruise from falling off the cabbage cart hadn’t healed yet. Back then, in my salad days, I still had leaves of that stuff behind my ears. These days, it’s kimchi. But back then, I was still pretty fresh.

His family had some Scottish heritage. I think his now wife’s family did too. When two Scotts get married in the colonies, that can mean only one thing: Men in skirts.

IT’S NOT A SKIRT!

IT’S A KILT YA DAFT BASTARD!

Oh boy oh boy.

There is no way on this good earth that I could ever tire of a Scott shouting those words at me. Better yet, I was a member of the wedding party. We all had to wear these heavy, wool, Scottish skirts.

IT’S NOT A SKIRT!

IT’S A KILT YA DAFT BASTARD!

(sigh. See what I mean? It feels good to imagine a red-faced Scottsman shouting about his lack of pants)

Dave was one of best friends in Junior high and the beginn…