Hugh and Zenobia had lots of grandchildren. They liked things to be done properly. It’s not that they were snobs – they weren’t – they simply liked nice things and things done nicely. It was the custom for them to give each male grandchild a tailor-made suit for their eighteenth birthday.
“The boys,” said Granddad Hugh, “should be able to put on a proper suit, and look like proper men.”
Grandson Ross was coming up to eighteen. “Time to get a suit made,” said Granddad.
Granddad was a practical man. He took Ross aside. “The tailor’s going to ask you, on which side do you dress? It’s not a phrase you hear often these days. It doesn’t mean what side of the bed you get out of in the morning to throw on your jeans. It means, when your dick’s not in use – which in your case is not that often – does it hang slightly to the left or slightly to the right? Apparently it has something to do with the way the seam’s sewn around the crotch area.”
Off Ross went to the tailor’s.
“It’s not very often these days we get such young, good-looking boys come in to be measured,” gushed the tailor, fumbling with his rolled-up tape measure. “Let me measure you. What big biceps you have. Do you do weights? Now I shall measure here, on the inside of the thigh.”
“On which side do you dress?”
“To the left,” said Ross casually.
“Ah! You know already!” exclaimed the tailor.
Ross could tell the tailor was disappointed. The tailor had wanted to explain it himself. Perhaps he might have wanted Ross to drop his trousers so he could take a look. Perhaps he might even have wanted to flick Ross’s dick with a pencil to see which way it swung.