Dressing for success
Now that Bish is The Chairman (That makes me, what? The Chairman’s wife? The girls at work are already calling me Suha.), I suggested that maybe the time has come for him to buy himself a suit. After all, now that he is representing a largish group of his professional peers he surely wants to make a good impression.
Now anyone who has ever visited Israel will know that it’s quite possible to reach the ripe old age of forty here without ever having been in possession of a suit. Actually Bish did wear a suit for his Bar-Mitzva, an utterly revolting brown and beige thing, judging by the faded photos. Thankfully, he outgrew that about twenty-six years ago.
Before our wedding, when Bish happened to mention to my Mum that he intended to show up for the ceremony in blue jeans and sandals, she nearly had a fit. I knew he was joking because he never wears sandals. Well, he didn’t wear blue jeans and sandals, but he didn’t wear a suit, either.
Now he has started to realize that he probably will have to have some decent clothes for public appearances, but a suit? That’s going too far. “Why don’t you pop into one of the posh men’s shops on Kikar Hamedina?” I suggested, “And get yourself one good suit.”
The weeks passed and nothing happened. Yesterday, he walks in from work with one of those suit-bag thingies over his shoulder, a really posh one, and he’s looking as happy as a twelve year-old who’s just won a soccer game in the school yard (sorry, Americans won’t get it any more than I do). Out he brings a beautiful Italian blazer, sort of casual, but you can see it’s excellent quality (“What color is this exactly?” He asks me. I’d say it’s charcoal.). Don’t ask how much it cost, I thought the price was the serial number.
So, there we have it. Not exactly a suit, but at least something decent looking. Now we’re getting somewhere. My Bish the flashy dresser. Of course, he does think it looks best with his old blue jeans and a T-shirt. I give up.