Connie announces to me that she has a coworker getting married this August and we have been cordially invited. Now, when I hear the word "wedding," my throat starts to feel like it's closing up and the feeling of suffocation begins.

No, no. This isn't a commitment issue. Not at all. This is an "I hate dressing up, and I certainly hate the idea of wearing dress pants and a dress shirt in the middle of August" issue. This issue then fans the smoldering embers of the Suit Wars.

I do not own a suit. I've never needed a suit. I do not want a suit. These statements put me at odds with Connie, who for some reason is surprisingly passionate about the fact that I piss away a couple hundred dollars on something that I might wear once a year. Why not use that money for something we could use every day? Like a sweet TV? Instead, we'll buy a suit...that lives in my closet...covered in plastic...and sees daylight once a year.

Right now, I think the events surrounding my life are pretty stable. Most of my friends have been married for sometime, and there certainly isn't anyone close to kicking off yet (knock on wood). So really...I don't need one. "What about job interviews," you foolishly ask. Well, that's when I put on my $40 GAP pants and my black, silk tie that I got for being in Jeff's wedding about three years ago. This is California, that tie goes a long way.

I also understand that there are affordable options. But that's not the point. It's putting a decorated noose around my neck and then handcuffing my wrists with starched cuffs. It's having to buy a belt and shoes and get all fancied up and losing all sense of comfort.

So ultimately, it's coming down to this. I will indeed buy a suit. And it will either be light tan like you always see drug lords in movies wear, or I'm going Crockett-style.