The tux

He should wear a classic Armani tux always.
When he gets up in the morning, he should take off his night tux and put on the day tux.
When he swims, (because I hear that swimming is really good for your back) he should wear the tux.
When he goes grocery shopping (although, who are we kidding, right? But nonetheless, if he did his own grocery shopping) he should - say it with me . . . wear the tux.
When we meet for coffee in that charming little cafe near his Italian house where he arrives early and pre-orders me a skinny latte with a touch of caramel because he knows that's how I like it, he should wear the tux.
When he meets my parents, whom will love him because my mother always liked him on that ER show and because my father will just be happy I've made a decision on whether or not I'm a lesbian, he should wear the tux. (Even if he will be hideously overdressed because my dad is a shut-in and thinks a wifebeater and stubbies is appropriate for meeting potential son-in-laws.)
And on the day that he falls to his knees and asks me to marry him (thereby causing him to have to pay scads of money to Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts who have bets with him that he'll get married again, breaking the hearts of women and gay - and straight - men everywhere) he MUST WEAR THE TUX.
Always.

Enjoy.