When getting a wedding outfit takes 10 minutes

Chronologically, this picture comes before the Procession of the Pink Pants, probably a few days previously. I could check the EXIF data on the image, but that would mean switching windows... but who cares about how lazy I am. The guy in the orange pants is me. I happen to think the purple jacket is a dashing statement. The little guy is Kee - Nek's uncle who owns the guest house where we stayed. The bald guy is Glen - Liz's friend (not in the way that 'Liz's friend' was interpreted in SE Asia) who accompanied her kind of as the muscle. Liz is a little bit little, so it was a safety/comfort thing.
The guy you can't see because he's holding up a piece of material is the tailor. Lovely fellow, lent me the purple jacket on the condition that I not sweat in it. Righty-oh, no sweating in 30 degree humidity. I'm all over that. Think of home, Rob, in February.

So what's going on, now that we've all been introduced? Well, Kee was very encouraging of the idea that as a participant in a traditional Khmer wedding (particularly that of his niece) really ought to wear traditional Khmer clothing. No matter how silly it makes you look. Glen got to participate in the ceremony too, so he needed happypants too. In this image, Kee is bringing all his skills in convincing and persuading to bear: "Yes, you wear that. It's good."

By gum, I'm sold! And indeed I was, on two lengths of silk (now destined to become cushion covers). That's right, I went to a wedding as father of the groom, wearing cushion covers.
You sort of stand in the middle of a couple of metres of silk, and a helper brings the ends together in front of you, kind of wraps/folds/rolls (the wardrobe girls on the wedding day had a genuine technique, we just faked it for the 'fitting') the whole works into a roll, and then that goes between the legs and is pegged up at the back. Tadah! All dressed.

Glen's tail is somewhat more pronounced as he has a more majestic girth than I do, hence it took a bit more material to get around. The consequence is that the rolled up bit is a lot longer... and ends up looking like that. In the market (one of a couple of markets; this may be the New Market, or the Central Market, but then again, those might be the one and the same. Never really did get the two straight. I know definitely wasn't the Old Market), the tail elicited nearly as much hilarity as the pink pants did.

Once our outfits were established (I also got an absolutely darling belt), we hung around briefly chatting in mutually incomprehensible languages with sporadic translations, but much smiling and laughter. Kee had appointed himself chauffeur on this expedition, and kept us to a rather strict and hectic schedule. Once we were done clowning around, we piled back into Kee's CRV, stuffed the tailor into the trunk (it's a little SUV, and there was pillows over the spare tire. He was fine.), and dropped him off from where we'd picked him up, and went back to the guest house to relive the glory of the day.