Poor Ghost barely knew what hit him.
While there was no need to subject him to anything as ghastly as 'manscaping' and he is sufficiently cognizant to recognise that there is no excuse for nose hair (although, being the ginge that he is, he could benefit from a teensy eyebrow tint), after that one episode, something had to be done about his wardrobe, stat!
I flung myself at Google's feet and begged for wisdom. After goggling (not googling) at the range of labels available to him (what, they make CK in his size and not mine?!) I found a place in Melbourne (well, if you count Dandenong as being 'in' Melbourne) and made plans to get out there and shop ourselves into oblivion, or at least serious debt.
ZZ Top knew what they were talking about when they sang "Every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man." Gay men know it. Smart straight men know it, some pay lip service to it and others wander about in tracky dacks and singlets (InstaTranslate™: track pants and wife beaters) for the rest of their lives wondering why they can't pull chicks.
Which is why I was calling the shop 10 minutes before it was due to close (it's a REALLY long drive to Dandenong) and asking if they could kindly stay open a bit longer for us folk from the big smoke. The guy on the phone wasn't convinced.
I descended on the shop like Carson on speed, throwing items of all descriptions at Ghost while he cowered in the fitting room. Soon the salesman had a pretty good idea of the commission he was about to earn and happily kept the shop open 45 minutes after closing time.
Work, casual, recreational... we bought every outfit he could possibly need. Excepting perhaps something for a formal ritual virgin sacrifice, but who goes to those things any more, there are so few virgins these days.
And despite all his whining about having to go clothes shopping, there is a certain glint in his eye when he steps out in his new gear.
Indeed Bill, clothes do maketh the man.
« No, really?