I joke about my inability to dress myself. However, its not a joke – at some point after I married the Bean, I was brought to the realization that though I am fully capable of picking out & putting on clothes, I don’t seem to be able to do it in a manner that matches. Or coordinates. Or “goes.” All three which are things that I never really had given any thought to. Pre-Bean, I just put o a pair of jeans & a t-shirt. Or a pair of shorts. And a t-shirt. Or polo (not Ralph Lauren Polo, but a collared, not-too-fancy, but still with a collar & couple o’ buttons polo.) And then I went. Wherever I was going.
Post-Bean, I have found myself asking her, “Does this match? Coordinate? Go?” Or, “Does this blue striped shirt go with these olive green shorts?” To me, it looks like an outfit. Something that makes scoeyd look as good as a scoeyd can look. Yet, the Bean just raises an eyebrow & searches for a positive way to say, “No. You look like a sofa that a baby-barfed on right after eating plums, green beans, beets, & carrots out of their wee baby food jars…” At this point, 18 years into the marriage (1 July is the actual day. Another time I’ll tell you how “we” picked this date,) all it takes is the raised eyebrow, & I’m off to strive for something that I’ve worn before that passed muster. Some men might feel indignant at this sort of interaction, & insist on picking their own clothes out. Me? Not so much. I just want her to think I’m Hot, so if it takes getting her sophisticated color palette into the mix, so be it.
Today, I decided to freelance – I found & put on a brown shirt. (Like the one above.) And a pair of shorts (also pictured above. Wonder why its called a pair of shorts when its only 1 item of clo- btw: clo is the singular of the word clothes. It’s true.) I took my customary jaunt to the presence of the Bean for a once-over. Lo & behold. We are wearing identical outfits. Exactly. Except I don’t have a white flowery belt to go with my shirt/shorts combo. But I’m looking for one.