Why Did Scottish Warriors Wear Kilts?

I once owned a store where I sold Scottish merchandise and wove tartans on a loom. I needed a manikin to display my kilts, so I purchased a very tall, rough looking “dummy” who became affectionately known as “Angus.” I outfitted him in a stunning Prince Charles Edward Stewart kilt, a sword, a jacket, and a sporran. He was quite a hit. When I closed the store, I didn’t know what to do with Angus, so I took him home and left him standing around in the den. At Christmas, he wears a Santa hat. For Halloween, he has an alien invader costume. He refuses to wear the bunny ears I got him for Easter.
A few years after I’d gone back to lawyering, I hired some guys to do repairs outside the house. That morning, as they hammered and sawed and otherwise made a great nuisance of themselves, I worked on a court case I had coming up. By the time they took a lunch break, I had a splitting headache, so I took some aspirin and lay down. Worn out with all the racket, I fell sound asleep.
The shrill ringing of the telephone an hour or so later jolted me out of bed. As I tried to collect my thoughts, I heard a panicked man’s voice on the line.
“Patrice! Patrice! Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I answered groggily, “what’s the problem?”
“Patrice, you got to get out of your house right now. There’s a man in there,” he urged.
“A man?” I still wasn’t quite awake.
“Yes, a man’s in the house! When we came back from lunch, we knocked on the door but you didn’t answer. So we went around back. And that’s when we saw him sneaking around in the den. We ran down the street to call you before we called the cops. Thank God, you’re OK.”
Well, I didn’t feel OK. Some criminal was sneaking around in the house and these brave home improvement men had left me here alone with the murderer. Reruns of “Criminal Minds” and “Law and Order” raced through my imagination. My only weapon, a broom, was in the kitchen. He’d probably found that by now. I froze as I realized that I was about to die. The man on the phone interrupted my gory thoughts.
“Patrice you’ve GOT to get out of that house. That man – he’s a PREE-VERT!”
“A Pree-vert?” I asked as the room began to spin. Now scenes from CSI Special Victims Unit were playing out in front of my eyes.
“Yeah – a real Pree-vert! The guy’s wearing a skirt!”
I stopped to imagine what kind of torture a man in a skirt would inflict. For some reason, I was no longer afraid. What would a guy in a skirt want? Maybe just some shoes or makeup. Maybe a purse. I tried to picture all the men in I’d ever seen in drag when all of a sudden, I remembered Angus.
“Was the Pree-vert kind of tall and blond?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s him!”
“Was it a plaid skirt?”
“Yes, yes! But don’t worry. We’re calling the cops right now!”
Although I couldn’t figure out how Angus could sneak around, being as how he is a manikin and all, I was pretty sure that it was him the guys saw.
“No, no,” I said wearily. “You don’t need to do that – the Pree-vert’s a friend – he’s harmless. You can come on back and I’ll explain. It’s OK.”
I went into the den to see whether Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy had brought Angus to life, but as I expected, he was just standing there motionless as always. The only difference I could see was the trace of a grin that I hadn’t noticed before.
The jittery workers were pretty embarrassed when they realized that a mere “dummy” had scared them off. I was pretty disappointed that they left me in the house defenseless with someone they thought was a murdering pervert. They finished up and, tails between their legs, they slinked off into the sunset.
I don’t think these men were cowards. They probably would have protected me from a regular bandit or even a fire breathing dragon. But even the bravest hero panics in the presence of a man in drag. History records that many an army ran off rather than fight Scottish Highlanders wearing kilts. Blaring bagpipes probably figured into the equation as well. The Scots were masters of psychological warfare.
Over the years, I’ve noticed that Angus affects men very differently than women. If I forget to warn a visitor about Angus, my guest will looked startled and anxious when he stumbles upon the well-dressed Highlander. I then have to calm both of them down.
I’ve never known a woman to feel threatened by Angus. I have, however, walked into the den to find my female guest peeking under his “skirt”. It seems that women really do want to know what a Highlander wears under his kilt. I’ll never tell.