The Origins of the Italian Tuxedo

This is my brother, Andy.

Perhaps you may remember him from my stories of the torture I experienced at his hands as a child, or from the fact that I keep him well-stocked with Charmin and lady deodorant.

I keep telling him, he is getting pretty famous among the two of you my many readers.

I just returned from a family vacation at my parent’s house in Virginia, where I spent the week with Bobby and the kids, my folks, and my brother Andy, his lovely wife of 15 years, Sarah, and their four kiddos.  It was, as expected, great fun.  Partly because when my family is together, we never cease to crack each other up.  And we actually enjoy being together!

But back to Andy.

On this trip, I saw something I had never seen before, a sight that was both humorous and slightly perplexing: my brother Andy wearing a “wife-beater” t-shirt.  Or, as he calls it, his “Italian Tuxedo”.  Now, we are not Italian in the least (we are actually mostly BRIAR), but the men in my family are pretty darn hairy (not on their heads, of course, but everywhere else, right, Uncle Paul?), so Andy looks like he could be Italian crossed with Greek crossed with BEAR.  Dude has got body hair.  As a matter of fact, two of his three-year-old “Cubbies” in his Awana class at church have commented on his outstanding fuzziness, one telling him he looked like a monkey, and the other rubbing his arm and saying very generously, “Mr. Brads, I like your fur!”

Out of the mouths of babes.

But I digress.

I had no idea my brother was a fan of the genre of the wife-beater, and one late night last week we got to discussing how and when he had come to love those paper-thin tees that so nicely showcase his voluminous body hair.  He thought about it for a second and said: “I know when I started wearing them.  It was when I got my “Concealed Carry” license and I needed something to cover my gun, so I started wearing the wife-beaters underneath my t-shirts so I could tuck my holster in my pants and then my t-shirt would cover my gun.”

Well. Makes sense, right?

After I finished laughing, crying, and gasping for breath, I came up for air and said, “Wait a minute.  Let me get this straight.  You started wearing wife-beaters so it would be more comfortable for you to carry around your GUN?”

“Well, yeah.”

I love my hairy, gun-toting, school-teaching, lady deodorant-wearing brother. And you really can’t argue with that logic in regards to his donning of the Italian Tuxedo.  I mean, really, you can’t have your holster chafing against your skin when you’re packing. Everyone knows that!