A Man Walks Into A Bar......

My gbf is known for his immaculate dress sense. This is a man who likes to dress up. He'll wear a suit to the grocery store, a tie to go bowling..you get the picture.
However, as we trotted around Chicago yesterday, he decided to go casual. He and gbf 2 spent an hour discussing what to wear before leaving the house (we forgo one particular bar because neither could be bothered to change shoes in the middle of the day).
Anyhow, we ended the day with a visit to a very traditional piano bar in the centre of the city, the Redhead.
We were met at the door, somewhat ironically, by a door man in a black jacket four sizes too large for him.
"A warm welcome to the Redhead. You can't come in, you're not dressed correctly!"
We looked at each other. Jeans and a jacket were ok, but not t shirts or ripped jeans. The gbf was wearing a very fetching t shirt with a somewhat risque cartoon of Betty and Wilma from the Flintstones, and jeans that were ripped even before he dropped my glass on them on the top of the John Hancock.
The gbf was mortified.
"But you should see how I normally dress," he insisted. "I wore a suit for the seder!"
The doorman seemed surprisingly unimpressed.
"Here, borrow my jacket," said gbf 2.
"Ok," the doorman relented. "If you wear the jacket I'll waive the ripped jeans. Just keep your legs under the bar."
The bar was so dark it wouldn't have mattered if we'd have all been in tank tops and shorts. As the gbf sulked into his martini, we relaxed and waited for the music to begin.
Although they tried their best to enjoy it, the evening had been marred. However, speaking for myself, two cocktails and 17 songs later, I was the host of my own private party.