How the Watley Review came to be. Sort of.

Volume 2, Issue 41, December 14, 2004

The Modern Spatterdash

In this season of inclement, or Rarely clement, Weather, one cannot be too Careful about one's Attire. Sadly, many of my fellow Citizens neglect some of the very Basics of appropriate attire; my nephew Ephram, for example, only wears Socks under threat of Dismissal. Such is the modern Age.

But there is One item which is even More absent than all the rest. It is true that Far too many people leave their Silk Hats at home now-a-days; that one is more likely to see a short adorned with a Hand-cuff than a Cuff-link; that Cravats are rarely worn, and almost never Correctly worn. But the most Elusive element of all is the humble Spat.

Spats, or spatterdashers, are of course that Quintissentially vital cloth Covering for the Instep and Ankles. To fail to Wear them is to invite Disaster upon one's Shoes and Scorn upon one's Attire in the most proper of settings. Yet, astonishingly, few people seem to Wear them. I cannot even find them in many Stores.

My habitual Haberdasher, of course, keeps me in a Regular supply of this vital (but alas short-lived) Accoutrement. He keeps me Abreast of all the latest Fashion-news: and I was Delighted when he informed me that a New Company was marketing Spats. At last, a Return to Civility! I exclaimed, purchasing Six Pairs.

But the novel Spats are not what I expected. For one thing, the nature of the Material they are made of eludes me, though it is certainly not Silk. Moreover, I do not recall the presence of tiny Light Bulbs in the traditional Spats. Well, perhaps this is Progress. And they are somewhat Garish for my taste, but then I don't wish to seem out of Step with the Times - so on they Go.

What horror! For as I take my first Step, a strange and tinny Noise emanates from my feet. Closer inspection reveals that it is Not in fact my shoes, but these new Spats which are giving voice to my every Step. They are Singing, by all the Saints, a dreadfully off-color Christmas Carol! The tiny light bulbs are Blinking in tune with the Music! Horrors indeed!

The spats end up in the Fire, where they come to a Noisome but thankfully Quick end. Modernity does Not suit me, I fear, if novelty Musical Spats represent the Future. I shall stick with the Old-fashioned Silk kind, and pray that no further Advances are made in the field of Spatterdasher construction.

Ezekiel F. Watley, Esq.