There is a type of male who can go to a
five o'clock tea and not fall over a lot of Louie Kahn's furniture
or get himself hopelessly tangled up in a hanging drapery and who
can seem perfectly at ease while holding in his hands a walking
stick, a pair of dove colored gloves, a two-quart hat, a cup of
tea with a slice of lemon peel in it, a tea spoon, a lump of sugar,
a seed cookie, an olive, and the hand of a lady with whom he is
discussing the true meaning of the message of the late Ibsen but
these gifted mortals are not common. They are rare and exotic.
There are also some few who can do ushing at a church wedding with
a pair of white kids on and not appear overly self-conscious.
These are also the exceptions. The great majority of us suffer
visibly under such circumstances. You have the feeling that each
hand weighs fully twenty-four pounds and that it is hanging out of
the sleeve for a distance of about one and three-quarters yards
and you don't know what to do with your hands and on the whole
would feel much more comfortable and decorative if they were both
sawed off at the wrists and hidden some place where you couldn't
find 'em.
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