For sale is a 44 inch waist, medium length, postal blue, Mocker model Utilikilt. This UK has only been worn once. The pleats are still crisp, and there are no stains nor blemishes that I can see.

The "postal blue" UK has been discontinued and is no longer available at retail. You are not likely to find another one. The tag says "L" as I called and they (UK) found this one on the rack in their shop. I paid to have it chopped to the medium length by them. IMPORTANT: Please see http://www.utilikilts.com for accurate size descriptions. I will NOT be accepting returns.

Unfortunately, my wife is an unholy sea hag. When I asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she said "Nothing.", I assumed that was what she wanted...nothing. So, I bought myself a kilt. Apparently, in Womanics, the term "nothing" can be translated as diamond earrings, a trip to the spa, or a duvet cover (like I even know what that is).

In closing, please buy my kilt. I'm tired of sleeping in the shed. The roof leaks and it's been cold. Maybe I'll use the money to buy her those damn earrings. Or maybe I'll just put a new roof on the shed. Squirrels make nice pets...

On Apr-12-06 at 09:24:31 PDT, seller added the following information:

AND NOW FOR A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA HAG:

Hello eBayers. I thought I would chime in with my side of the story.

When my husband told me he was buying a kilt, I was sure it was a joke. Being so close to Christmas and considering we had our children and others to buy gifts for, there was no way he would spend so much money on something so, well...stupid. I underestimated him.

I had convinced myself that he had actually used that money to buy me a gift (selfish, I know, but a girl can dream). It wasn't until I held this 65% poly, 35% cotton abomination in my hands did it dawn on me that I had, indeed, been hosed. You could smell the brimstone for miles.

Since we live in a small, conservative midwestern town, I warned him that he would probably be taunted mercilessly. I tried to change his mind about it. I thought the icing on the cake was when our daughter ran up to him with her Elmo camera and asked to take a picture of daddy in his "pretty dress". Still, he insisted on wearing his new pleated frock to his office. I was sure that would end in one of two ways: 1) He would be teased until he came home to change, or 2) His boss would take one look at him and ask him to leave. Surprisingly, neither happened.

Dear friends, this thing has been the bane of my existence since day one. My son and daughter can't quite understand why daddy has a skirt, and I've had to lie to people when asked about it. "Oh, he lost a bet", "He's in a band", "He's lost his mind". And to top it off, I swear the damn thing follows me. It seems like whenever I'm home alone, every time I turn around, there it is. Mocking me.

Bid well, bid often. Think of the children...and all the therapy they're going to need.


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