Tuxedo Trouble
Dear Diary:
In town for a black-tie wedding at the Plaza, my wife and I spent a leisurely afternoon enjoying an unseasonably warm December day.
When we got back to our room at a nearby hotel, I discovered that I had left my tuxedo shirt at home. I called down to the concierge and explained my situation.
“Hmm,” she said. “Well, you can run out and buy a shirt.”
“But the wedding is in a half-hour,” I replied.
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “I hope you make it. Good luck.”
Running downstairs in search of a store, I passed through the lobby’s revolving doors and noticed that the bellmen were wearing white shirts.
I went back in.
“Excuse me,” I said to one who looked about my size. His name was Paul. “I’ve got a wedding in 25 minutes and no shirt. Can you help?”
He hesitated.
“What size are you?” he asked.
“Sixteen neck, 32 sleeve,” I said.
He disappeared through a side door and came out minutes later holding a freshly laundered white shirt, on a hanger no less.
