Here is the story of how we bought Dan a suit this evening. I am going to tell it in two installments because I want to go to bed. The first part is basically all background. The second part involves Balloon Fiesta, New Mexico's unpredictable weather, sweet tea and a minor miracle. Settle in.

In a week, my sister is getting married. This has caused much excitement in our home as I've previously mentioned. What I have not mentioned is that it has also resulted in something of a wardrobe crisis as well. I'm not sure if New Mexico natives are aware of this, but the Land of Enchantment has a very laid back dress code going on. You could pretty much go to the swankiest four-star restaurant in Albuquerque where they come by and remove individual bread crumbs from your tablecloth with silver tongs and while you'll probably see some folks who are dressed up, you'll also see a few people in blue jeans and cowboy boots. This is all very good and charming in a Wild West sort of way, except that it has brainwashed me and made me forget The Rules.

What are The Rules? Well, let me tell you. I grew up in The South. The Deep South. And among other things, one thing the South takes very seriously is the Dress Code. There are certain events to which you wear certain things. I can't really be more specific, because most of the Code is unspoken, but there was a time in my life when I knew instinctively that if you are invited to a bridal shower at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday, you should wear nice slacks or a skirt and a sweater set. Probably also your pearls (Real or fake). These are the Rules. I don't know why. You just do it.

Then I moved away and came here, to the Land of Come As You Are. And I have to say, it is refreshing in a lot of ways. No one cares what you wear out here, which is a relief sometimes. Except when you leave and go to a wedding. Now, to her credit, my sister Hannah is about the most chill bride I have ever met in terms of what everyone else should wear to her wedding. She's not putting any pressure on us. I called her to tell her what we were wearing, and offered to send photos for her approval since our outfits will be in her wedding pictures, and she laughed at me. The drama is all in my head, and it's because I realized a few years ago to my horror that I have lost my internal decoder ring for the Rules and now I don't know what to wear to anything once I'm out of the high desert. For about three years now, when we're going back to Mississippi and attending an event of any significance, I have to ask my mom what we should be wearing. She still knows The Rules, and she's much better at picking out clothes for me than I am anyway.

My point is that I, guilted by no one, have been kind of uncertain what we should be wearing to the wedding. I'll save you most of the agony by saying that Kate and I are all squared away. (Kate will be adorable. I will pass for her mother.) But when we started trying to figure out what Dan should wear, we sort of hit a wall. Clearly, what I remember of The Rules state that an evening wedding calls for a suit. Dan used to have a suit. He still has it, in fact. But it was bought in a rush for job interviews during his last semester in college, and it's never fit right and isn't comfortable at all. So he never wears it. Meanwhile, Dan's work dress code falls under "New Mexico. What Are You Going to Do?" The man can wear blue jeans to work every day. He is happy as a clam. So am I, because I don't iron. If he had a job where he had to wear dress shirts and ties, we'd be paying a second mortgage in dry cleaning costs because if it's up to me, it ain't going to happen.

About a month ago, we started looking into what we would need to do to get Dan a nice suit for the wedding and other occasions in life that just call for a suit. Those of you who know us in real life know that Dan is tall. Really really tall. I never really thought of this as a disadvantage for a person until I realized, when Dan ran into the top of a low doorway ten minutes into our first date, that the world is just not built for people as tall as Dan. Furniture is too small. The roof of a compact car almost touches his head. Heaven help you if you have to fly on an airplane and can't score a seat in the emergency exit aisle. And it turns out that in the land of suit-buying, Dan's tall suit size translates into "What? Are you serious?" Then they bring out the two suits they have in that size, which are never on sale, and that is the end of the attempt to find you a suit. The only exception to this procedure appeared to be at stores where you had better be prepared to donate an organ to pay for the suit they'll be selling you. So we got pretty discouraged and concluded, at Hannah's insistence, that it would really be OK if Dan just wore a dress shirt and tie to the wedding. I was OK with that, because I do, regardless of what this post might lead you to believe, understand that the most important thing is that we're going to be there to support Hannah and Daniel at their wedding and no one really cares what we wear, Rules or not.

But as I mentioned, we bought Dan a suit tonight. And you'll just have to wait to hear the rest of that story.