Someone once said that men forget how to dress themselves when they get married. It may have been the case at say, year one or two, that Eddie allowed me to select what I thought he should wear for a special occasion. Then somewhere along the way, and I think it was my mother that noticed and remarked on it first, his wardrobe exceeded mine in the area of high fashion. Actually I think my mom dared to say that Eddie always dressed nicer than I did. Another example of her attempting to get in his graces? I’m not so sure.
So it came to pass, on this afternoon of New Year’s Eve, that Ed’s guy friend Timmy called for fashion advice. (Poor Timmy, he won’t be happy if this makes it to press!) But to give Tim some credit, all his designer duds that Ed is normally jealous of, were trapped behind the closed doors of his dry cleaners. Ed put me on the phone.
“What? What dry cleaners would be closed on New Years Eve? Wouldn’t that be the biggest day of the year for people to want their glittering glamorous evening wear the most?” Tim was in no mood for a joke. Having already convinced the other couple sharing our limousine for the evening to stick to slacks he was smoothing over any “wrinkles” in our plans. I cut him some “slack” and said I planned to wear my vintage tuxedo and Ed would put away the suit and wear a sweater and slacks instead. I drew the line at blue jeans.
I tried to convince him to go out shopping today as his lovely girlfriend, the slim and svelte Judy, had purchased a new dressy suit herself the day before. He couldn’t handle the thought and I remembered that Tim, not unlike my own spouse, had a habit of getting lost between rounders and T-stands that take up the majority of a retail clothing store’s floor.
I hated shopping with either of them. Hours turned into days to find the perfect suit, tie, shoes, etc. The best shopping experience I’ve had with Ed so far was at our own Robinson’s-May store.
We were in a hurry. It was for the fireman’s ball that very weekend. They were having a sale. He needed the whole nine yards: altered suit, shirt, tie and shoes. The only way I got out of there with my sanity intact was that I had the wherewithal to bring my six-year-old with me. Her attention span, akin to my own at this point, demanded a break. We got water. We went to the bathroom. And the kicker way out of their was that I had brought my own car and had to get Samantha home for her bedtime.
The salesman was an example of perfection. It was ready, set, go! I was out of there and Eddie, was left, much to his dismay as we say, with the check. He had to make a quick decision so he agreed to all that was offered. And he looked great for his ball. (Although he may have left a wing-tipped shoe behind in his hurry.)
Now back to guy friend Timmy. He is in the entertainment industry. His clothes are a reflection of his job. No doubt, later tonight, we will not find ourselves at any of his familiar spots, as he cannot afford to be “spotted” looking casual tonight.
Tomorrow he’ll be at his dry cleaners. He won’t chastise them. He won’t even mention that he was not dressed to the nines for a holiday event. But you can bet on this: He’ll be taking his dry cleaning elsewhere in 2002. And I can bet on one more thing. He won’t be caught like this again. I thank my lucky stars that it will be Judy accompanying him on his sooner than later shopping spree. But of course she’ll be dressed like me in jeans and tennis shoes. Maybe not the fashion plate her mother hoped for either. But this way we can try to keep up!