A few days ago I had the hankering to try on my wedding dress. (Is this weird? I get the compulsion like once a year and/or when I think there is an inkling that I may be able to zip it up). Anyway, I went into my bedroom to put it on and Ian waited outside the door.
When I came out three minutes later (which is like an hour in 4-year-old time) I said “TA DA!” And, not surprisingly, all I got was Ian’s grumpy face.
Now this face doesn’t mean he doesn’t like something. I knew he was mad he had to wait outside the door, but I had told him that’s how it works. Women put on their pretty outfits and men wait outside until it’s time to complement them. He didn’t understand this and besides he wanted to play with the big white bag with the huge zipper on it. His sister was nearby and he could’ve put her in it. But no, I had ruined that possibility.
In my presentation, not only did I get the grumpy face, I could tell he thought it was all a little strange. Considering I had just come out of sweatpants, this is understandable.
I proceeded to sweep myself down the stairs and showed my mom on skype (who was also mildly uninterested). I acted silly and fun about it (and as you can guess fun is a bit unusual around our house lately) and so Ian decided he was on board with my little game.
This was confirmed the next day when he asked me if I would try on some of my other pretty dresses. It’s probably hard to believe since I’ve been rattling on about my extremely understated wardrobe as of late, but I consider myself to clean up pretty well, when I want or have to. And I have quite a few cocktail dress options. (When do I wear these? Never.) So, I tried on three different outfits for him.
When I got done I said, “So Ian which one did you like best?”
He told me he liked the purple one (a former bridesmaids dress that was the most frilly and foofy of the three). I think it’s because I did the twirl in it that he requested.
Then I said “What about the first one I tried on, the red one? I really liked that one.”
No, he liked the purple one best, he said. And I could tell he was growing more and more disinterested by the millisecond.
Yet, in that moment, I found that small fountain of wisdom inside of me spring up with a tidbit of helpful advice for the 25-year-old version of Ian.
“Ian, when your wife says to you, ‘Does this look good on me? What do you think?” THIS is what you are supposed to say:
“Honey, I really liked outfit A (or B or C), but you looked great in all of them. You should wear whatever you feel most comfortable in.”
What I didn’t say to him was that maybe one of his wife’s wardrobe selections was sweatpants. Ugh. Hopefully he doesn’t find himself in that situation.
It probably doesn’t matter anyway because my wisdom was nonchalantly dismissed. My guess is his brain was thinking about if he’d had dessert yet today (it was 9am), or if he could watch a video, or if the discipline that would be doled out would be worth messing up the bed I was making at that very moment.
At any rate, he wandered off and has not asked me to put on another pretty dress since.
Something tells me I was given a glimpse into the future: the scene involves an annoyed woman who is getting no help from her husband in her very urgent outfit crisis.
But, the kid LOVES to give flowers, so I think she’ll forgive him.