When my husband met me, I was dying my hair every color of the rainbow and regularly wearing over-sized men’s pants with XL black or tie-dyed t-shirts. You’d think that by now he’d understand my unique sense of style and adjust his expectations accordingly. You’d think he’d just be grateful I’m not still stuck in the 90’s with my ratty flannel shirts and black nail polish.
But apparently, this Sunday’s outfit was just too over the top and he had to put his foot down.
Sleeping bag: vintage, circa. 1980’s
Skinny belt that pulls it all together: came with a dress I bought at Burlington Coat Factory
Look, I know it doesn’t have a second arm hole but Tony had offered to hold Teddy in the cry room for me today anyway. And it’s the perfect modest length! (Bye bye sultry ankles!) Most of the stains came out in the wash and none of the holes revealed anything scandalous. Frankly, he should be glad I found something practical to use the nap attack sack for.
I mean, he won’t let me drape the sleeping bag over the back of the couch, he won’t let me lay it out on the bed, the kids run screaming from me when I try to show them it’s not inhabited with mold anymore… am I the only one with some sense in this family? I put up with a lot around here and I don’t think it’s too much to ask for everyone to tolerate my deep, intimate and long-standing relationship with this sleeping bag (or handicap van, dining hutch, vase, clock, lamp, etc.)
But, to keep the peace, I reluctantly changed into this ho-hum ensemble. Yawn…
Tank top: one
Sure, I got a few compliments on the outfit, and lots of friends remarked on the new van. But while I may have been smiling on the outside, inside my heart was being torn to shreds, like the soft lining of my old sleeping bag once that mouse family moved in.
But I will carry on. Thankfully, the rest of the lovely ladies linking up at Fine Linen and Purple should distract me from the hard truth that Tony’s not going to accept the sleeping bag as a veil either.