Last weekend, my family went to a Burns Supper. Each year, Scots, those who wish they were Scots, and anybody who just wants an excuse for a party, gather around January 25th to celebrate the life of the great Scottish poet, Robert Burns. Even if you know nothing else about the man, you’ll recognize his best-known work, Auld Lang Syne. Both my husband and I have Scottish ancestry, and so for many years our sons had both sets of grandparents and my sister at the table. They even wanted their own kilts. As one said, “I love that my heritage’s native dress includes a weapon.” That would be the sgian dubh, (skeen doo) the dagger thingie they wear in their sock. The whole issue of what to wear under the kilt was solved when one son declared he was going, and I quote, to “free ball it” and I said, “Sure.” Because a kilt is eight yards of unlined wool and our climate is semi-tropical. I’m not sure he lasted sixty seconds before accepting the long boxer briefs I’d bought him. That’s a picture of me and my boys in the MacAllister tartan.
The format for a Burns Supper starts with the Selkirk Grace: Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit. After that, the haggis is piped in. A procession of a bagpiper, guard, the man who will deliver the “Address to a Haggis”, the haggis on a platter, a man carrying scotch whiskey in tiny little glasses (holding a “wee dram”) and another guard solemnly process to a table where the haggis is displayed. With great fanfare, the address is delivered, the haggis is stabbed, sampled, and toasted, and then presented to the chieftain who tastes it and pronounces it “Fit to eat.”

Haggis has a bum rap. It’s really good. Basically, it’s meat (I’m being purposefully vague) and oatmeal and spices. If you eat sausage, you shouldn’t have a problem with haggis. For years, it was our family’s test. When the boys and my sister brought dates to the Burns Supper–would they eat the haggis? And, more important, did they like it? All the keepers did.

After dinner, a speaker delivers “The Immortal Memory”, a speech about the life of Robert Burns, toasts to the lads and lassies, someone performs “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” and then comes piping and Scottish Country Dancing and drinking Scotch. This is the only time of year I drink Scotch. I can see why people like it, but it’s not for me.

In Houston, we’re lucky to have the St. Thomas Episcopal bagpipers, who have competed and won world piping championships in Scotland. Texas bagpipers. World champs. In Scotland.

Burns was quite the ladies’ man, probably fitting the classic bad boy persona. I’m not sure he’d make a good Blaze hero, what with all the kids with different mothers, but he obviously appealed to women. You can read about him here.

So. Haggis. Have you eaten it? Would you eat it?

I have a friend whose husband is a devoted kilt-wearer. This is endlessly fascinating to me. He likes kilts so much, and he likes running so much, he even invented a running kilt: http://www.runningkilts.com. (I’m disappointed to report that the running kilt isn’t commonly worn commando-style. Oh, and, why a kilt for running, you ask? To reduce chafing on long distance runs, of course.)

Yes, nowadays, there’s a kilt for every occasion. Check out the utilikilt: http://www.utilikilts.com, for some interesting photos. And don’t miss their mock-u-mercials to see videos of kilt-wearers in action.

Apparently, there are even kilt-wearers’ conventions. Aforementioned friend and her husband went to one and reported to me many interesting stories about the experience. Imagine a whole convention full of guys in kilts. Now imagine if that convention took place at the same time and in the same hotel as the Romance Writers of America conference.

Why do some men love kilts? Any devoted skirt wearer should know the answer to that question. They’re more comfortable, for one thing. Less confining. Not to mention ease of access… There must also be the appeal of feeling so at ease with one’s masculinity that putting on a skirt—er, I mean, kilt–isn’t at all threatening. Rather the opposite, it’s freeing.

One side note—it wasn’t easy finding an appropriate photo to accompany this blog post. Perhaps I should have dug up some historical romance cover art. But Google images? Try searching “men in kilts” and you’ll get a bunch of pictures that are:

A. ridiculous
B. even more ridiculous
C. weird
D. silly
E. all off the above

In a few weeks, I’m going to Scotland, home of the kilt. I will report back my findings. I will also take pictures.

How do you feel about men in kilts? Do you think your guy would wear one in public? How about other items of clothing that many deem feminine? The man purse, for instance? I personally am launching a campaign to get more men in high heels, makeup, and complicated hairdos, because I think we should all share the pain equally.