One step ahead.

It's always sad when I make a joke that is so witty and intelligent that it goes RIGHT over the head of my intended audience. I suppose my humor is too high-brow for the proletariat. Today I went to Nordstrom because I wanted a new pair of khaki pants. My body having the cartoonish proportions that it does, I of course need to have all my pants tailored. The tailor, awkwardly gripping my firm buttocks in her wrinkled hands, shook her head and said "Tsk, tsk."

Connor: What is it?
Fanny McPhee: Is this really the smallest waist size we have?
Connor: Yes. (Tries to swat her hand off my ass... unsuccessfully)
Fanny McPhee: What do you think about them?
Connor: They still look too big on me.
Fanny McPhee: We can take them in a bit, but not too much. Maybe you'll grow into them.
(She looks up at me, eyes narrowing.)
Fanny McPhee: How old are you?
Connor: Twenty-seven.
(This answer seems to satisfy her.)
Fanny McPhee: You still have time to fill out. My son used to be just your size. Not anymore though. They used to call him 'Stick'.
Connor: Now he's more like a 'Branch'?
(Internally, I am quite pleased at my witty wordplay. This was a funny comment! I seek approval from Mrs. Touchy Tailor. She cocks her head at me, confused.)
Fanny McPhee: 'Stick'. (Holds up a vertical finger as if I am a retard. Tries to mime a stick.) You know? Thin like a stick.
(There is an awkward pause consisting of unblinking eye contact.)
Connor: I must not have understood that initially.