Swimsuiting

I have a bizarre love of portmanteaus.  This is when you use a word whose meaning is derived from a blending of two or more distinct forms. like Gaydar from gay and radar. Meaning that homosexuals put off radar signals at such high frequency, they can pop popcorn placed near them. 

Sometimes, portmanteaus are called "Frankenwords" due to the creation of unnecessary words. Like "Infotainment" meaning "information presented in a format intended to attract with its entertainment value" when simply the word didactic would suffice. Yet, this is the fun of the English language. To know the rules, then bend them. 

Today, I headed to the amazingly beautiful Fort Collins, Colorado to attend the wedding of a longtime friend.  In the last week I have completed all the obligatory pre-wedding invitee requirements. The suit was taken to the dry cleaner, shoes polished, and this morning a hair cut was checked off the list. I even remembered how to tie a bow-tie.  As I pulled out my "wedding suit" and slid the jacket on is when a portmanteau slid from my lips. Pathesad. Not just sad, more hopeless than pathetic. I was swimming in my jacket, a jacket that was tailor fit a year ago. "When was I that fat?" It was as if I didn't recognize my own self, a year later. 

All day I did the pose where you keep your hands in your slacks to pull the suit jacket back. Like a math teacher, in a lame attempt to look hip. This was in hope that know one would ask why I borrowed my Dad's suit.  I'd say that the act was swimsuiting. If that portmanteau wasn't already taken.