Vineyard Vines Emergency.

Ryan and I dined at Paolo's tonight.
In case you're unaware, Paolo's is Ry's FAVE restaurant in DC. It's Italian. And it is good.

Anyways....

We take a table outside, relaxed, sipped cocktails, ordered food, generally chilled out, when a very Eastern looking couple takes a table next to us. And by Eastern, I don't mean the Far East, I mean like, the East Coast. Duh.

Anyways...

Without going into incredible detail, this couple looked like they meant business (like 10 year reunion of his Yale polo club) and suddenly the waiter spilled a glass of wine on the dude's shirt.

All hell broke lose.

Here is an (exaggerated, slightly) account of what followed:

Man: Oh! What! Oh! Crap!

(Shakes droplets of wine from shirt)

Man: Oh, this shirt is trashed. Totally trashed. Ruined. Man, this shirt was new! NEW!

(Shakes head at companion)

Man: Where's this wine from? France? FRANCE?! Well, it was a mistake anyways. I only drink the finest Nantucket wine. The stuff Teddy drank. You know, Teddy Kennedy. Family friend.

(Examines stained sleeve)

Man: You know, the silk worms that produced this silk are Cape Cod raised. Yea. Cape Cod. Born and raised there. 100% silk shirt. What do you except me to wear? American raised silk? Pfft.

(Punches angrily at Blackberry)

Man: What'll I wear to Martha's Vineyard next weekend? What WILL I wear? Honestly. Look at me.

(A look of fear crosses his face)

Man: Vineyard Vines. Where's your nearest Vineyard Vines!? I NEED tiny whales. TINY WHALES all over my torso. Tiny ones. Preferably pink ones. I NEED TINY WHALES, STAT!

This man then cut through the shrubbery and booked it down Wisconsin in search or a new shirt.

Or trying to remember where his yacht was parked.

Either or.