Queer eye for the sports guy

Five guys walk into a bridal shop … Sounds like the opening to a bad joke, doesn't it?

But five guys did walk into a bridal shop, looking for a tuxedos for my wedding. Five guys who couldn't be any more clueless about being fitted for tuxedos. And it didn't take long for everyone in the store to figure out exactly how clueless we were. But look who you're dealing with? Some one who will be forced to take his Cubs hat off on his wedding day. It could be the first day since about 1985 I have not worn the Cubs hat.

We figured out pretty quick that we were out of our element. We needed some help, any help. This flab five could have used some advice from the fab four.

A little queer eye for the sports guy.

But how hard could getting fitted for a tux actually be? It didn't help that the first question was like the $64,000 question - it stumped us all.

"What are your colors," the lady at the bridal shop said.

It's a tux? A black and white tux. So black and white, right?

Ah … no.

Apparently there are more colors to a black and white tux, than black and white. Who knew? With a fresh "deer in the headlights" look on my face, the bridal shop lady had me looking through pages and pages of pictures of vests and ties. Each vest and each tie was slightly different in color.

"Do you want royal blue or paisley black?" the lady said.

Paisley, he's the country singer right?

"Windsor tie or bow tie?"

Ok, I know what a bow tie is, but you're going to have to help me with Windsor.

Now my head is spinning. And I have a voice in my ear - Valley life editor Casey Ressler - saying, "Dude, call Amber. Call Amber."

Ten more minutes of this and I would have picked out colors that make us look like Chippendale dancers. I would have been like Chris Farley in that old Saturday Night Live skit.

It was either call the Bravo television network in hope of an emergency "Queer Eye" episode, or call my fiancee.

So, I called Amber. Lucky for us, she was close. My posse and I had a tee time scheduled later that afternoon, and Amber would not have appreciated her bridesmaids standing on the opposite side of the alter from a group of groomsman who look like they worked a bachelorette party the night before.

Soon after the emergency phone call, Amber bolted into a bridal shop like the military on a rescue mission. Rather than saving her troops from the enemy, Amber was rescuing the look of her wedding party from the idiots. Going through this little ordeal and watching my married friends, it didn't take me long to see that I was only preparing for a long life of listening to my wife, and watching my wife make decisions for me.

Casey, a married man, apparently learned that lesson long ago.

When the lady at the store asked for his pant and shirt sizes, his response was, "I don't know. That's a question for my wife."

Now that we survived the tux fitting, I am surprised some of us can dress ourselves every day. So what do you take from this? I am sure there are lessons to be learned somewhere.

I do know that I will need to listen to my future wife when it comes to little details, like the other colors in a black and white tux. And I do know, out of all those colors, there is not one that will match my Cubs hat.

This is the last edition of J's World with Frontiersman sports editor Jeremiah Bartz a single man - assuming Amber can put up with him.