Last night, I had a few friends and family over to my place to watch the fireworks show at Navy Pier and Grant Park, both of which can bee seen from my condo. I was, of course, kilted (my Royal Stewart as it is the only kilt I have with red white and blue in it).

Earlier that night we went out to dinner at a nice restaurant and I was dressed rather formally: my brogues, dress sporran, waistcoat, and tie. After the fireworks my friends wanted to head out to the bars. We met up with some other out-of-town friends who had never seen me in a kilt before. They are all from St. Louis, and were surprised to see anyone wearing a kilt. One of them, whom I didn't know, tried to get a picture without me knowing. As more drinks were had, numerous questions about the kilt came up. I answered all of them, and the St. Louis crowd got more comfortable with the kilt. One of them admitted to thinking, "Who's the weirdo in a dress?" when she first saw me.

The rest of the night saw an overwhelmingly positive reaction to the kilt. People wanting to talk about their Scottish and Irish heritage, people asking where they could get a kilt, a few kilt checks , and various, "Awesome kilt." comments.

All was going well until one of the women we were with decided she wanted to go to Bar Chicago. Bar Chicago is a club/bar downtown that is your basic I-just-graduated-from-college-meat-market. It's a bunch of guys trying to get laid, and a bunch of girls who will eventually get drunk enough to let them. Not that it can't be a good time, but as I get older I find that a bar where they employ an achondroplastic dwarf to pour alcohol down girls who are dancing on the bars throats while trying to convince them to take their tops off, is not my scene anymore. I was, however, willing to go for this out of town crowd.

I led the way into the bar, and the bouncer stopped me and said, "I'm sorry, normally I'd let you in, but tonight we have a dress code." Remembering that I had been to this bar in the past in jeans and a t-shirt, I asked about this dress code. He was unable to give any details about the dress code, and just kept repeating the words "dress code." There of course was no dress code, he just didn't want a guy in a kilt in the bar. I turned around, and the 10 people I was with followed me. The woman who had thought I was the weirdo in a dress earlier actually had to be restrained from yelling at the bouncer, and defending my kilt, which I think made the whole thing worth it.

We just went to a club next door where the bouncer said, "Awesome kilt." and let me in without paying cover.