I caught hell from the wife when they arrived from Hong Kong. Bespoke, obnoxious, beautiful and pricey. The velvet was as black as the Grinch's heart with embroidered foxes on the toes, simply stunning. She thought they looked silly, I disagreed with her and showed her a few images from Google of famous people wearing Albert Slippers. She couldn't stop giggling until I showed her a picture of RFK wearing them. The giggles stopped long enough for her to be mesmerized by him as so many people are of that family. She bleeds blue, trust me. I didn't get laughed at for at least twenty minutes, until we met a few friends after the drinking lantern had been lit.
(I wonder what could have been)
They made their first debut at the Main Street Station Christmas party. Nothing pairs better with formal wear like velvet slippers, nothing pairs worse than patent leather. Main Street Station is an amazing building that is a working train station but closes for weddings and whatever else as long as your paying, the architecture is some of the finest in the city and you can't miss the clock when passing by Richmond. They close down the station and few families host the party. A grand evening, drinks on the first floor of the train station and dancing on the second floor. It was a warm night in December and we had all the doors open that lead towards the balcony. I drank scotch, the wife drank champagne, we moved next door and had mojitos. I woke up with a nasty headache and a dry mouth. If I had to guess, all the sugar in the mojitos.
I wear them with the tuxedo 75% of the time and at home with chinos, flannels and occasionally shorts. You need to be pretty tan on the legs to pull it off, I'm not, but I still go for it.
Sitting on the table is a glass of the finest, JTS Brown. Damn good bourbon straight. Cheap, not too sweet and Paul Newman ordered it by the fingers in "The Hustler". Paul Newman was amazing in that movie and so many others, he epitomized cool for me in college. I tried using his lines, I attempted his swagger and I wanted his look. It never happened, I couldn't replicate an ounce of his cool. I had to find another way to meet girls, I joined a fraternity and starting listening to better music. Stuff I thought Paul would like.
In front of the fireplace is LT, my lemon tree. It was a Christmas gift last year from my Mother. In the ten months I have owned it has produced two lemons. That's it. Thank God I don't depend on it for cocktails or we would be drinking a lot of plain vodka. A great gift but it has to go back to Mom and Dads for the winter, because unless it is in direct sunlight it shrivels up like a man on a New Years Swim. I cannot find the right light for it in the city house, so it is leaving for the country.
Not even enough for garnish. Pitiful
Oh and I can't forget about the dog, Kingston. He will be two in December, he's a pain in my ass. The Persian rugs aren't safe, he loves gin, so he intentionally knocks over my martinis and laps up the floor by the time I can get to a rag and he loves my wife more than life itself. He constantly needs her affection, more than any Lab I have ever seen. He is in for a rude awakening when our daughter arrives in February, we are walking through his world right now, but that is coming to a screeching halt. We will be up at all hours and it won't be him getting the attention. I have a feeling I will be taking over his walks. He'll never knew what hit him. I just hope he forgives us when she starts eating Cheerios, they always end up on the floor.
For now I will keep an eye on my glass and give him a few more scratches behind the ears.
Enjoy, life is good,
Duck
