Shatner Rules by William Shatner Page A

colonialism still hanging on. The missus then attempted to assuage my fears by telling me it was a party in which all the attendees were to
wear
white. My fears were only assuaged somewhat.
    Sorry, but I don’t wear all-white ensembles, and certainly don’t travel around with them.
    Why? Well, I’ve been away from my hometown of Montreal for many years, but a bit of my hometown of Montreal goes with me wherever I go. It’s freezing there. The only people who wear all white in that city are the asylum orderlies whose job it is to collect people in Montreal who wear all white. You do not walk around in the City of Saints dressed for the tropics.

    FUN FACTNER: Montreal is sometimes called the City of Saints, in case you were wondering where I got that.
    I shrugged it off. I had some white socks. That ought to count for something. Who was going to be so uptight as to deny me admittance to a party because of a lack of foresight when packing my suitcase?
    The wife would.
RULE: Anything Can Be Negotiated—As Long as You’re Not Negotiating with Your Wife
    Mrs. Shatner had an all-white ensemble and was determined that the two of us were going to attend this lovely beach party together, no matter what. And apparently, my white birthday suit would not be appropriate. It was not
that
kind of beach.
    I then dragged said lily-white self into the soak tub to contemplate this sartorial conundrum. I guess I could
buy
a white suit or something, just to attend a party for a few hours, and then maybe I could return it? Hopefully with a minimum of curry goat or jerk chicken stains? That seemed like an awful bother, I thought to myself, as I gently batted around the rubber duck. (I do pack the
important
things.)
    Then I looked around the bathroom and saw the answer to my problem . . . hanging on the back of the door.
    My wife made sure she walked several paces ahead of me as we made our way to the all-white beach party later that night. I sauntered behind her, resplendent in my white socks, white tennis shoes, and . . . white terrycloth hotel bathrobe. And while I’m not a man who likes to share the color of his underwear, let’s just say I was following the dress code to a T, or, more precisely, a BVD.
    Of course, the whole event was a deliriously fun bacchanalia. Marjoe is a larger-than-life personality and a delightful host. Who would have thought that a guy who grew up handling snakes and speaking in tongues would throw such great parties? And the way some folk were drinking, they would probably need his old faith healing skills first thing in the morning.
    My improvised ensemble was a big hit, and decidedly more in keeping with the whole vibe of Jamaica. (In fact, many asked me if I was stoned.) It was a wonderful night with wonderful people but then . . . something horrible caught my eye.
    I saw someone across the sand. Another partygoer. Someone doing the one thing no Hollywood celebrity ever wants to see!
    He was wearing my outfit.
    My exact same outfit!
    It was a red carpet emergency, or, in this case, a white sand debacle!

    FUN FACTNER: William Shatner always carries his T.J. Hooker nightstick with him on the red carpet. It’s the only way to keep Joan Rivers in line.
    Someone else had the audacity to show up in white tennis shoes, white socks, and a gigantic, fluffy hotel bathrobe. Stealing
my
look! I stomped over to see who else dared wave the terrycloth banner of good times.
    It was Olympic gold medalist Scott Hamilton, of course.
    I confronted him; we both started laughing, and hit it off immediately. Turns out the 1984 gold medal Olympian for figure skating didn’t bring an all-white outfit to Jamaica. Why?
    He’s a figure skater.
    It’s cold on ice. It’s cold in Montreal. People who spend that much time in the cold just don’t
do
beach attire.
    So I went to a party, risked the possibility of great ridicule, and by the end of it had made a great friend. So, wear a bathrobe to your next important event and