When I walk into Doc Holidays without a kilt on I get scowls, yells, chastisement, and general attacks on my person. It’s been a bloody cold winter though, so on more than one occasion I’ve stumbled into the bar bundled up in pants, sweaters, and scarves to keep out the chill.
“Where’s your fucking kilt!” the bartender screamed the last time I walked in, and I just shook my head. I didn’t have an excuse, and I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m having it cleaned. I spilled too much beer on it the last time I was here,” I mumbled, and she was kind enough to pour me a drink anyway.
The truth is, that sometimes I just don’t have the energy. When I’m feeling down, a little tired, and not tough enough to take on the stares of strangers, I throw on my jeans and walk out of the house.
Today I’m reminded that putting the kilt on and holding my head up high is often just what I need, no matter how low I’m feeling. The smiles I get inspire me more than the laughter and head shaking, and the blues just slip away with each step.
When I walk into the bar tonight, I’ll get smiles and hugs, and most of all, I’ll feel just that much better about the world.