"Are you, like Scottish or something?"
I looked down at her—she was twenty-two and blonde—and the hair rose on the back of my neck. It was a question I'd heard a thousand times and it wasn't one simply answered. She wasn't asking where I was from, and she wasn't just wondering who I was. She was questioning my right. She was assessing my honor and my claim to wear the tartan. In her little voice, stood a challenge. I stood up tall and smiled at her. I took a deep breath and it all poured out.
"All around the world men have worn kilts with honor and pride. They've fought and hunted and danced and sang. From England, Ireland and Scotland, to Rome and ancient Greece, the kilt has been a symbol of power and strength.
“I am the great grandson of Captain Leonard B Wallace who sailed the schooner known as the Matty J Alice. I come from a long line of pirates and thieves, nobles and merchants, and my family goes back over one thousand years.”
There was a moment of confusion in her eye as she took it all in, and I wondered, just for a moment, if I misunderstood. Was it possible she was thinking something else entirely? Before I could say anything her head went down and her eyes looked up. They were pretty and blue and her smile was coy as she put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear.
"It's totally hot."
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