Curt and I have a general rule that we don’t buy big stuff without talking to the other person first… not for permission, but out of respect. Now, I don’t call when the grocery bill is off the wall and I’ve got a cart full of diapers, laundry detergent, and dog food in there. But I would call if a jacket went on sale… or maybe if I desperately wanted to go see Brandi at Meijer Garden. Likewise, Curt lets me know when box (AN ENTIRE BOX- like, twelve pair) of work gloves is headed to the house because he found a deal online, and he buys work clothes without a consult.
But sometimes, sometimes, there is a kink in the line.
When the box arrived with Gus’ new little swimmie trunks, I put them in his drawer with a smile. The dress I *ahem* hid immediately in the closet. It was an impulse buy… a celebration of a great week and a complete and total out-of-bounds purchase. He would love it, and would have said yes had I mentioned it… but I didn’t and now it was too late and the Irish guilt in me was in overdrive.
Yesterday I put it on with my magic boots and walked out ready for church… and confession.
I clicked around the hardwood floors, adding snacks to the bag and refilling Abby’s water bottle.
Finally, I could stand the guilt no longer. I placed myself directly in front of him and raised my eyebrows.
“Your boots look nice. Do you still like your boots?” he asked automatically.
“I love my boots.”
“Good. Me, too.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me where this dress came from?”
“You’re dress? Is new? Ok. Well…”
[takes a good look as I back up and twirl]
Not from Goodwill,Love. Not from Goodwill. But it is the most perfect dress ever. Vintage vibe. Heavy jersey. Looks great with boots, looks fabulous with flip-flops. Certainly out of character for me to buy on a whim AND for it to fit, no less… but a winner. The world’s most perfect dress… for me.
And the world’s most perfect husband… for me.
God bless you, Curt, for your innocence and trust in me. Hurray for happy endings.