One of the things I enjoy most – besides the sacred art of doing absolutely nothing – is wearing new clothes for the first time. For me, putting on a new garment is like an ibuprofen that calms my left ankle pain, or like that first decaf coffee in the morning, strong and well-filtered, that finally wakes me up. Something that refreshing.
You might say, “Wow… this Tele has more stories than a library.” And you’d be right. Every single anecdote I share here is entirely true. Of course, sometimes I make a slight tuning adjustment, similar to what I do with my FTDX10 (SDR), and add some “autobiographical fillers” to give them better reception and make them a tiny bit more interesting. Some call it “poetic license,” though I don’t have an ounce of a poet in me.
But let’s get to the story of the XXX Shirt.
I bought a cardinal red, long-sleeved shirt with the polo player logo (you know the one). One Saturday, I decided to “broadcast my presence” and went to a very busy shopping mall to watch the brave souls ice-skating. I was there, leaning on the railing, monitoring the frequency of the place, when a “young man” my age – probably around 38 years old – approached me.
After commenting a bit on those gracefully gliding and those “esgolizándose” (taking a tumble), the man said to me quite properly:
—I admire your taste in clothing. That’s a very elegant shirt; in fact, I bought an identical one at the same store recently.
I puffed out my chest, grateful for the compliment. But then he dropped the million-dollar question:
—Where can I buy one that’s exactly like that?
A bit confused by the redundancy, I replied: —But didn’t you just tell me yours is identical?
—Well —he answered very politely—, it’s the same color and the same logo… but yours has an accessory that mine didn’t come with.
By this point, I felt like I had my Yagi monoband antenna 100 feet high, thinking I was sporting a limited and exclusive edition. I asked him: —Oh, really? And what detail is that?
—Yours has that striking transparent plastic band running all the way across the back, proclaiming in big letters: XXX.
End of story! I won’t tell you more because the “tube warming” I felt on my face lasted almost a week. My level of embarrassment came through with a signal of S9+30 dB; I was heard loud and clear on all bands. Subtle errors from us, the 38-year-old “youths.”
Author’s Note: Just to clarify and avoid any “frequency interference”: the XXX band refers strictly to the shirt size. No restricted content here—just a bit too much fabric and a classic moment of forgetfulness!
Hablemos, Tele 
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