First off, be advised that it was not easy for HOGS to get into that tuxedo at left OR to take a selfie while wearing it.

But it was all worth it.

Because I am now the proud owner of my first tuxedo.

Just like a grownup or something.

The return on investment is already awesome.

I had to go to a black tie event last week which meant I had to, again, spend a bomb renting a tux.

This is because I have never gone to enough hoity-toity formal events to justify my paying for a tux.

And, while my employers were always happy to reimburse me for renting a tux, they were never too keen to buy me a tux.

Which was penny-wise and penguin-suit stupid, as proven by the following mathematical analysis.

* Cost of previous employer renting three tuxedos for three awards dinners — $375.

* Cost of purchasing a new tuxedo — $600.

* Cost of purchasing a used tuxedo — $300.

So as you can see my, previous employer got stung for refusing to buy me a used tux, even though it would have been cheaper AND I would have gladly worn it to chauffeur around the CEO; or give out mints and paper towels in the men’s loo during corporate events.

(Note: since I work in PR, spending time in the loo would be appropriate. Much of corporate PR involves telling media why the bad things your company did were actually very good things… which in the biz is called “turd polishing”.)

So, as you see, the tux-and-toilet example works at so many levels.

Anyways…

For this black tie even, I decided I would try buying a used tuxedo via the U.K.’s version of eBay.

Sadly, I lost the first auction, and then stuffed around until there was not enough time left for shipping.

So I went to the nearby rental shop where I: a) found a tux to rent for $125 and b)convinced them to SELL me the used tux and a red bow tie for $150.

I also got them to put a new shiny lapel on the tux.

Which means you are now speaking to a man who owns his own tuxedo and who, after shamelessly Facebooking said tuxedo photo and being labelled “erudite” by a friend I met in Waco 30 years ago.

(Note: this may be the only time in history when the words “Waco” and “erudite” have appeared in the same sentence.)

I am so enamored with my tux that it has prompted long and giddy Facebook comment streams involving:

— the wearing of said tuxedo to the airport so as to get VIP parking — “They let me park right next to the plane on the runway. everybody was waving their arms and turning on their sirens and shooting their guns. Man, they loved my tuxedo.”

— the wearing of said tuxedo while gluing PVC pipe (“Women just do not understand that when something needs to be glued, it needs to be glued right now; don’t matter what you are wearing. Beside, a little turpentine will probably get that pipe right off the tux’s lapel”)

— the wearing of said tuxedo to stylishly walk the dogs, possibly as an atonement to the neighborhood ducks who are still traumatized by a recent even that was NOT MY FAULT (see blog below).

And here is the point of this particular blog post.

Finally, at age 57, I am prepared.

If one of my fellow Kiwis, like Peter Jackson or Lorde, or some American like my near-miss father James Garner, needs me to URGENTLY get on a plane and come support them at the Oscars or Grammys, I now can now race to the airport wearing a tux (complete with red bow tie and frilly, but in a masculine way, white shirt) just perfect for exiting the plane and strolling right onto the red carpet.

Which, for an Okie Downunder, is just all kinds of erudite.

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