“How do you piss in that thing?”
“I have to hang up now, Mario’s wearing a skirt.”
“What do you have on under there?”
Just a few of the reactions men can expect if they decide to wear a kilt.
I currently wear one and George H. W. Bush had something to do with it.
I was at George H.W. Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston when I spotted a man walking confidently down the terminal in a T-shirt, hiking boots, and a kilt. I looked for a Scottish bagpipe group, but he was alone and seemed incredibly at ease, relaxed, and — most of all — comfortable.
One day, while on the internet, I typed in “kilt” and up popped websites dedicated to kilts for everyday use. One site, Amerikilt.com,
drew me in with photos of regular-looking men sporting kilts while riding motorcycles, hanging with the wife and kids, and hiking Yosemite. Made of sturdy materials in solid colors, these kilts were a modern riff on the traditional Highland wear.
I ordered my kilt (Army Green) and waited for it to arrive. Dressed and ready to go, I opened the front door — and froze on the spot. I had forgotten one thing. People were actually going to see me in a kilt. It’s been several months since, and now I proudly wear my kilt when flying to New York, going to meetings, and even shopping for milk, eggs, and tortillas at H-E-B.
Go to Amerikilt.com and get an idea of what I looked like when I joined my friend Robert for dinner and he jumped three feet, shouting into his cell phone, “I have to go, Mario is wearing a skirt.”
Now to the technicalities of kilt-wearing: “What do you have on under there?”
Underwear. Boxers. Chones.
“What’s that thing hanging in the front?”
It’s a sporran: a pouch like the kind traditional Scots wear.
OK, it’s a man-purse.
I never felt so masculine.
Bósquez the Brash.
Bósquez the Braveheart.
Bósquez the Pendejo who didn’t know how to pee in a skirt and was forced, at the Atlanta airport men’s room, to gingerly lift the kilt and use the urinal. The guys entering the bathroom were treated to the sight of a large, curly-headed Mexican hobbit holding what seemed to be a military-issue skirt to the side as he used the porcelain facility.
Don’t mince around like Donna Summer in concert taking a break between “MacArthur Park” and “Bad Girls.” Walk with a Macho-del-Mundo, Irish Spring Soap kind of stride, as if your huevos are slightly too big for your body.
Don’t be “put together” … too color-coordinated and all tucked-in, looking as if the Village People are getting back together.
Adjust the kilt so the back of the waistband rides just above your butt crack and the front rests just below your belly button — no matter how much belly you have.
Make sure there are mosquito bites on your shins. Keep scratching at them so they remain covered in scabs. Your legs need to look battle-scarred — like a Roman who just finished fighting off the Visigoths.
Wear Timberlands or similar rugged footwear with nasty gray socks rolled down to the tops of the boots.
And, amigos, wear the kilt around the house for a few days so you get used to how it feels.
It will change your life.
I am now getting breezes in dark, out-of-the-way places I never thought possible. After years of repression, compression, and suppression, I got a thank-you note from my balls (there’s an unconfirmed rumor my penis may send me a box of chocolates).
And, to answer a friend’s question, “What’s a Mexican doing wearing a kilt?” I say, “What are gringos doing drinking Margaritas?”
Mario is the author of The Chalupa Rules: A Latino Guide to Gringolandia.
Chalupa Rule no. 11
Go ahead, wear a kilt. The most dangerous part is ironing all the damn pleats.
Ponte una falda escocesa. Los más
peligroso es planchar tanto pinche pliegue.