Tom and I went to a wedding this weekend. In addition to celebrating with our friends (congrats Emily & Doug!), it was a nice occasion for Tom and me to have a date night, which we never do because I am a giant stick in the mud.
I am a giant stick in the mud because having a date night means I have to get off my couch, and my couch is very comfortable between 8 and 10 p.m.
I’m very out of practice for getting ready for events; this is the second time I’ve worn a real dress in nine months. All of my fancy wedding clothes are in David’s room, and I put him down for his nap before getting my dress out of his closet. Eventually I decided to sneak into his room to look for it, so I dressed in black, turned up his sound machine, and snuck into his room not unlike Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment.
But I still couldn’t find my dress.
Out of options, and just TWENTY MINUTES BEFORE THE WEDDING, I texted a friend to see what she were wearing and cursed Tom for not having a cocktail dress in my size. This is when I miss living with girls. Because when Tom tells me that my outfit looks nice I wonder if I should change.
All the while, my hair was setting in hot rollers.
As we were walking out the door, I took out the rollers and my hair tripled in diameter. When Tom saw it, he cocked his head to the said and said, “I think it looks big.”
I stared at him and didn’t say anything, because you can really convey a lot of how-dare-you-we-are-late-and-I-am-so-frustrated emotion through a expressionless eyes.
He smiled, placed his hands on either side of my head, pressed my curls down and said, “Do you think it looks big?”
Hey, Mary Virginia, this is the perfect situation for that scowl you’ve been working on.