I never really thought that I cared about the way that I look. Living my life for a day as an oversized, gay, Scottish elf made me realize that I am a vain slave to fashion. In public, I admit that it gave me this free and independent feeling, but that only lasted until somebody saw me.
At home, it was just horrific. I'm not the type of guy who wears boxer shorts in his apartment. I put on my pants and shoes as soon as I wake up and take them off seconds before I go to bed. Mystery Wardrobe made me feel naked all day.
The highlight / lowlight / whatever-you-want-to-call-it would have to be when a repair man from the gas company stopped by to fix a gas problem. I would have gotten a picture with him, but I was taken aback when he looked up at me with a scared look on his face and said, "Aren't you Tim and Rebekah's son?” It was then and only then that I would have liked to explain why I was dressed that way, but I stuck to the rules. And ma and pa Royal froze my trust fund for embarrassing them, yet again, in front of one of their fellow churchers. Thanks for the memories.