Clooney's New Suit

by David McKee © 2001

"Welcome to Eon Custom Suits, Mr. Leeds," Dr. Camille Baake said, waving her client into the office. "I was just going over your order. Are you ready for your fitting?"

"Please, call me Clooney. And, I am absolutely ready. I've been sleepless all week just thinking about it." He shook his head in wonder. "You know, for a man like myself, getting fitted for a new Suit is an expensive proposition. I've been saving a long time for this. I can't wait. I'm going to feel like a new man!"

"If you feel like a man at all with this ensemble," Dr. Baake answered dubiously, thumbing through his selections.

Clooney laughed. "Yeah, well, you may be right. But it's more natural this way. I am sick to death of being a slave to enforced appearance codes, whether they be the work clothing codes or even the fads."

"You certainly will not be mistaken for an icon of popular fashion with what you've chosen," she chuckled. "And work codes will go right out the door when we've finished. The new laws require employers to allow their employees any Suit they like, unless it impedes the fulfillment of work duties or violates vulgarity codes. But, you know that, don't you."

Clooney grinned. "I most certainly do. Let's get started!"

"You're the one with the money, and I am your humble, if slightly baffled, servant. Let's get this fashion crime over with before I think better of it."

"You are such the martyr," Clooney chuckled. "Let's do it."

Spinning gracefully on her heals Dr. Camille Baake lead Clooney through an impeccable chrome door into her work room. The sign above the door read "No unaccompanied admittance: skeletal refitting and musculature sculpting lab."

x x x

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