I was in a friend’s wedding and went for a fitting at the tuxedo shop. Easy peasy right? Wrong.

Once the sales guy handed me a yellowish, sweat-stained shirt to try on, I should have known there would be an issue. I set him straight immediately and made him give me a brand new shirt which annoyed him to no end. Sorry if filth bothers me, but I am certainly not trying that dishrag on if it’s covered with enough sweat and God-only-knows-what to make it look yellow. As I came out of the dressing room with the shirt on, the sales guy winced and looked at me with a very confused look on his face and said “Where is all that blood coming from?”

Having no idea what he was talking about, I looked down and was caught off guard because it looked like I had…