There are certain things in this world that qualify as common knowledge.

These are things that, regardless of exterior influences, are unanimously understood and agreed upon by the greater whole. Examples would include, the sky is blue; water is tasteless; Neil Diamond sports coveted sideburns, fire is hot, and of course, I have no sense of style.

It all started a few days ago when my wife's friend, Jamie, called to let her in on a little secret. It turns out, she knows some guys, who know some guys, who know some guys, if you know what I mean? And if you know those guys, then you know. You know?

Allegedly, a small group of businessmen and tailors were scheduled to be in our area to fit and sell high profile knock off suits to the fashionably minded. I, not being in said category, was quickly encouraged to investigate by the Mrs. I reluctantly agreed to look into it.

No sooner than I agreed, I found myself wandering into a suburbian Residence Inn looking for room 134.

Now, traditionally, operating a business out of a motel suite would suggest a lack of legitimacy. But with the chance of me coming out of the experience not looking like I've slept in my clothes for a week, Hailey was more than willing to subject me.

As I walked down the hall, I neared room 134. The door was propped open by the bolt lock, allowing me to see a sliver of activity. I sheepishly poked my head through the door to witness a scene quite common in most caper/drug dealer movies. Fabric samples were spread throughout the suite. Designer ties covered the queen-sized bed. Catalogs showcasing quasi-hetero male models in pin stripes and long-toed dress shoes caked the coffee and end tables. Groups of people secretively huddled together quitely discussing color and pattern swatches, all the while keeping a close eye on their surroundings.

I was quickly confronted by the largest set of teeth, I'd ever seen. Topped by a grey mustache and a tan that would befuddle science itself, the man eagerly approached.

TEETH: Welcome! Welcome! Come in. My name is Andy Chud.

ME: Chud?

TEETH: Here is a price list. Do you know what you want?

ME: My wife sent me here to get a nice suit.

TEETH: Ohhhh kay then. Here are some fabric samples and some catalogs. Take a moment and find what you want and one of these geniuses will take your measurements.

Two hours later, one of said geniuses had his measuring tape dangerously close to my figs and berries. He scribbled down a rough sketch based on our loose (and language barrier ridden) conversation. He then carbon copied my credit card, promised that an Armani suit, tailored specifically for me, would arrive via Fedex in no more than six weeks, and I was on my way.

What just happened? Who did I just give my vital credit card information to? The lines in the road started to blur. I was confused. Lost. Scared. Finally, I arrived home.

HAILEY: So did you get a suit?

ME: I think so.

HAILEY: Do you like it?

ME: Not sure, I only saw pictures.

HAILEY: Well, what did it look like?

ME: I don't feel so hot. I think I'm going to lie down.

HAILEY: A new suit! I can't wait!

ME: Yeah.

HAILEY: Oh, by the way, that's your Christmas present.