So, I've got an outdoor party this afternoon and it's in the mid-80s and muggy in The Stick.  "This," says I, " is the chance to go haul the patch madras jacket down from the cedar closet for the season."  So up I went to the attic and got the thing out.  Got it on the way cheap a few years ago from Joey Banks.  Cheap, I find, is often an excellent way to buy inherently preposterous garments.

So, I try the thing on and the fucking shoulder pads are every bit as infuriating as ever.  I look in the mirror and I'm readier for the defensive line than I am for a party.  Yet, I want to wear the damned thing.  If I show up to my alterations guy this afternoon, he'll look at me like I'm a madman and lock me out permanently.

After giving the matter sober consideration, I decide that less than sober measures are called for.  It is time for an auto-shoulder-padding-ectomy.  I mean, it came from Banks and if I do the thing in, Brooks or Press will sell 'em cheap in a few months.  So, I assemble my tools.  A lockback knife and a pair of largish Fiskar scissors.  After a quick slug of scotch for anaesthesia (me, not the jacket), I'm ready to cut.

Entry is always the most difficult incission.  With the knife, I open up the seam in the lining that runs between collar and right shoulder.  Inside, the shoulder pad sits like a bloated white tumor.  I mean, the thing is damned big.  I hack the thing out with the knife leaving only a very thin layer of stuff that is actually sewn right into the shoulder seam.  Not touching that.  After all, I'm hear to cut out a cancer and not perform an amputation.  I throw the jacket on and check the mirror.  Much better, yet there appears to be a hell of a lot of wadding in the sleeve head.  It must go before it can metasthesize back to the shoulder.  I re-enter the still open incission and turn the shoulder out through it.  There's the puffy white business.  I mean, this stuff must be what cotton balls hope to be when they grow up.  This is altogether trickier.  The stuff is anchored directly into the shoulder seam.  I'm not touching that so I just scissor out all the exposed stuff as close as possible to the seam.  There's some canvas stuff floating aroung in there but it looks like healthy tissue, so I leave it.  Try it on and everything looks right in the mirror.  Repeat on the other side.  I just need to close the incissions, but that can wait.

The patient is now much healthier and far more presentable.  It all proves that there's nothing a demented clothing-forumite can't accomplish when he's not afraid of his own total incompetence.