My girlfriend's daughter is in her high school choir, and their holly-daze recital was last night. Having spent the day in my office, in jeans (haven't been here long enough to challenge the norm with a kilt), and needing some comfort, I changed to my black UK Original before meeting my girlfriend for a quick dinner before the show.

I was curious to see what girlfriend's daughter's friends would do when confronted with a dude in a kilt. I really don't think some of them even noticed. The daughter had opined that I'm "weird," which coming from a teenager is almost a compliment, and one point she used to prove my weirdness is that I like to wear a kilt. However, she seems to be accepting me as part of her mother's life.

As it happened, the only comment I heard, and that second-hand, was my girlfriend's report that when I went to the restroom, she overheard two boys discussing my kilt. One of them knew it was a kilt, at least. The other asked if "that thing has a zipper or something?"

The program was interesting, to say the least. The choir director has some talented young people. He was showing off how talented they are, using some bold a cappella performances by the freshmen boys, some wonderful works by the freshmen and sophomore girls, and a compelling performance by a string trio. Their program includes some Madrigal singers, who took the stage in period-type outfits. Sadly, the period was Elizabethan English, and didn't include kilts. I did think the conductor would have looked better in a tank and fly plaid than in the white tie and tails he wore, but then I'm not a big fan of tails.

Given that I usually face such performances with a sense of dread (I have an unusual reaction to flat pitch that is best described as pain), I was pleased that I only cringed a few times. It sounds like a backward compliment, I guess, that I was in less pain than I expected, but there it is.