The bridal couple gave as a gift to the guests some awesome, fluffy beach towels. Since I could only get one of them into my suitcase, two days later I decided that I would wear the kilt home and not the towel. I swapped out my flashes and shirt for pale blue, but all the other accessories were the same. It was my first time to fly in a kilt, which turned out to be quite comfortable and not much inconvenience at all. Because the kilt has a hidden buckle, I was stopped in Mexico for a light wanding and very brief and delicate pat down by a pretty guardia, but it garnered me a full see-through body scan in Dallas. I imagine that they really just wanted to know The Answer.

Given the thousands of people I encountered Sunday, I felt that I was observed, but largely ignored. At different times, two ladies came up to tell me about their one trip to Scotland. The first addressed me in the one phrase she knew in Gaelic - I didn't understand her, and begged her pardon, so she repeated herself, and for a spilt second I thought I was having a stroke. The other told me that she had it on good authority by the locals that there is, in fact, a monster in Loch Ness.

One woman in Dallas-Forth Worth approached me as I was waiting to board my connecting flight home. She was solid woman, with what clearly was meant to be big hair and a confident stride. "So, what part of Scotland are you from?" she demanded to know. "The girl wants to know and is afraid to talk to you." She pointed in the direction of a little Bo Derek in corn rows and fifty beaded braids.

"Ohio," I said.

"Well, are you Scottish?"

"A little."

"Well, why are you wearing a kilt then?"

"Because kilts are more comfortable than pants." Which ended the conversation. The woman strode back to her curious looking family and explained what she learned.

Other than that, it was just a handful of enthusiastic compliments here and there along the way.

I'm so glad I went for this kilt and can't thank Paul Henry enough for helping me see the project through.

Regards,
Rex.