This Man

I used to write a lot about my dating and sex life and it was fun. But then I became involved in a serious relationship and it felt wrong to put anything about it or him out there in public.

Our relationship is sacred to me as is his privacy.

But today, I am filled with such overwhelming love and joy that I just have to share.

MCB is kind and warm and smart and funny and creative and introspective and lovely and well mannered and generous and delightful; he makes me swoon.

Yesterday he had an event for which he had to “dress.” He excitedly pulled out a suit; this was no slouchy, cheap fabric, ill-fitting suit; this was the real deal.

Next came the crisp white shirt, beautiful dress shoes, belt with initials and a bow tie.

Yes, he ties his own bow ties.

When he used his clothes brush to remove the dog hair from his overcoat, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

The thing is, this is my childhood, my upbringing.

I spent so many years and so much energy resisting and rebelling against Brooks Brothers that I convinced myself that “classy” wasn’t on my list of desires in a partner. I married a blue-collar guy from a steel town who wouldn’t be caught dead in a tie or real shoes.

And I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with that or that one is better than the other; it’s more that in my old age, I am really drawn to what is familiar; what connects me to my wonderful childhood.

And I’m not saying that how a person dresses is more important than who the person is, but even Shakespeare observed, “Apparel oft proclaims the man.”

Clothing isn’t everything, but MCB is. There is so much that is admirable and agreeable and lovable; so much that makes me smile each and every day. So much for which I am thankful. So much more than meets the eye.

But the candy that meets the eye is pretty spectacular.

What to wear

I have a wedding to go to in 2 days. I want to wear my red cowboy boots:imgres

But I don’t want to be this gal:

Cow? Horse? Hunh?

Cow? Horse? Hunh?

Or this one:

images-1

 

I want to be her:

ultimate cool

ultimate cool

 

But, here was a conversation that took place, just today:

“What are you wearing to the wedding?”

“I don’t know, seems like every wedding I go to, the standard uniform for the gals is dress, cowboy boots, jean jacket.”

Well, shitdamn, I don’t want to be wearing some “We think we are such cute western girls, even though we’re from Connecticut and have never stepped in actual cow shit,” uniform.

Because, I’m not that girl. Can’t be.

I’m from New Jersey.

And I am just as cool as my girl, Emmylou.

In my head.

I bought this gorgeous dress a while back, thinking it would be perfect for the wedding and it’s green which MCB really likes which makes it even more perfect. I started thinking about what I could wear on my feet that would accommodate all of the needs of the event: standing, dancing, walking on grass, all, for hours on end.

I’ll just throw on my boots – easy. Don’t need to give it another thought.

But now I do because the cliché has been noted; using an out-loud voice.

If I wear the boots and the dress, even without a jean jacket since I don’t own one, I will a) be that gal, just like every other gal there, and b) doing so with everyone knowing that I am fully aware of being the wannabe cowgirl who grew up listening to Bruce Springsteen and Tom Waits, not Ricky Skaggs and Patty Loveless.

So, maybe I could go with these:

images-2

Or these:images-3

I am from Jersey after all.

Or, since I am an “Outdoorsy” type, perhaps these will be better:

images

 

Or my inner athlete could go here:

images-1

 

I have 45 hours to decide.

I refuse to buy anything new.

And I am convinced that whatever I chose to wear, it will steal the spotlight from the bride and in the years to come, people will look back and relive the moment they saw my ill-shoed feet instead of her Vera Wang gown.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Imelda

You know when you decide that you need a certain pair of shoes, you must have them NOW…

So I get prodeals on certain items from certain companies because I am “in the business.”

I picked out a pair of shoes. Realized that with these new shoes, my life would be forever changed (for the better) and my feet would be eternally grateful.

Not only are these shoes functional, but they are (hopefully) super comfortable and they are just the right color green. So yeah, need them immediately.

Getting on with my life isn’t going to happen until they are on my feet.

So I called the company the other day and they told me that I have to “renew my deal.” Seriously, I buy shoes from these guys all the time?

So I reapplied.

And didn’t hear anything.

So I called again today.

“It’s going to take 4-6 weeks for your application to be processed.”

??????

“But I need those shoes yesterday.”

————————————-

“Do you understand that my very happiness depends on this?”

“Four to six weeks.”

“Okay, thanks (read: yeah fuck you and your fucking green shoes.)”

Ebay – here I come. I am tenacious if nothing else.

No. I’m not at work.

Well, maybe I am.

Search: Green Shoes, size 7.

BAM!

There they are, for even less than I could get them prodeal.

Cart. Checkout. Credit card. Complete.

3 days – I can wait 3 days.

I can’t wait 4 – 6 weeks.

The rest of my life begins on Tuesday.

And I will be sporting the Wham! Neon Light’s for the occasion.