In the last post I discussed finding the appropriate dress for my daughter for the family wedding we attended yesterday. As you'll see when you read that, it was a glorious occasion which shall not be repeated at least for a few years.
I hope.
And after suviving that adventure, I was left still with getting my hubby dressed. That, in itself, is a road trip you don't want to take very often, but occasionally it must be done.
If you met my husband, Big Guy, your first thought might be that he hasn't missed many meals. And you're right. That's not to say that he's fat, because he's not. He likes to use the words chubby and pleasantly plump, but since they've been erased from our vernacular by the Politically Correct Police, we are want to find a word to describe his portly self. The only thing we could come up with was Big Guy (BG).
So, Big Guy is a very casual person and he prefers to wear chinos and polo shirts, even to work. He has managed to work his way from suits to business casual over a period of about 10 years and I am so proud of him for all his hard work. It wasn't easy retraining the small minds of business, but he did it.
Now, Big Guy used to be Pretty Hot Muscular Buff Guy. I know that that was a long time ago, so many that we barely remember it, but unfortunately, most of his dress clothes were bought during the PHMBG stage. He went to the Men's Wearhouse many years ago and bought several suits, my favorite being the double breasted navy blue blazer. When PHMBG put on that jacket with a white shirt and a nice pair of pants, well, I'm telling you, it was hard to keep my hands off him. And then he morphed to BG, and let's say that it's just not the same.
When it came time to discuss clothes, I pulled four jackets from Big Guy's distant past from my daughter's closet where they've been gathering dust for about ten years. Well, thirteen or fourteen. The moths hadn't eaten them. They were still stylist (lapels haven't changed that much in that time, at least not for middle aged big guys.)
It was the time for the ceremonial trying-on. He stood. I stuffed him in the jackets. Checked to see if they'd button. None of them really did. And, with that out of the way, it was a toss up as to which he should wear. Considering that none of them really fit him, it didn't matter. Right?
Right.
I think the thing about getting older and looking back on who we used to be is very hard. I don't really enjoy it. I'd rather forget parts of my youth, like when my gut didn't sag and my hips didn't hurt. I'd also rather not remember when PHMBG looked really hot in that navy blazer. Or when he became BG. That was another time, an era we will probably someday totally forget as we progress from middle-aged to really old farts. One day we'll be in diapers again and our kids will be signing us up for some nursing home that smells like bleach where we'll be locked in our rooms at night so we don't escape. I, for one, know that I would not want to be in a place like that.
But one day, the memory of the blue blazer and that wonderful day 14 years after it's purchase when BG again adored himself with that flannel wonder, well, one day that will be gone. My kids will probably clean out our closets and throw it out, along with the other many memories of our lives, like the back massager which I can't get him to use or the orthotics in our shoes. We have shared so many memories.
Like the time he drove through the garage door. Or the time he "fixed" the oven, only to blow out the thermostat. There was the time I left him in the care of my two year old and came home to find her running across the roof. Yes, these are the memories that make for a great marriage and a fun family. These are the stories my kids will be telling at our gravesites.
"Do you remember the time that Mom didn't talk to Dad for two years?" she'll say.
"Yeah, I do."
"What was that about?" the younger will ask.
"I have no idea. She was so weird. Thank God they keep her locked up now," the older will say.
"And do you remember when Dad took us on that trip to California and made Mom ride up every mountain top on the way? Remember the look on her face at Mt. Shasta?", the younger will say.
"Yeah, she hated heights. She turned kind of green. But, hey, the good news is that she won't be going up any more mountains. She looks pretty stuck in that bed."
"Yeah, they were pretty cool. Crazy, but cool," the older one will say.
"My friends all thought they were the coolest," the younger one will say as she locks our nursing room door and takes her sister by the hand. "So, let's go get a latte and talk about what we're going to do with all their money."
"They had money? I thought we spent it all."
"Yeah, you tried. But there's some left."
"Cool!" the older one will say. "Let's go make plans."
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