In the past, when Tom and I were hurrying to attend our dance events for the night, we would find that we had both dressed in black. Black being chic in social circles, this was not a problem. Lately, though, it seems that the dressing faux pas are starting to occur on a more regular basis. I don’t know if it’s a commentary on how long we’ve been dancing or a commentary on how long we’ve been married. Should I be concerned that two reasonably observant people got dressed in the same house at the same time and did not realize that they were both in turquoise and black? Should I be concerned that just last week, we were running out the door to our dance class and paused for the exhalation as we found each other dressed in orange? No time to change; no time to iron an alternate shirt; only time to brace for the comments yet to come. And, as they came, they usually included the word cute. The condescension is irritating but, admittedly, well deserved. So, today, I made the decision that I would appoint myself wardrobe coordinator. Walking into a room now, we should be able to have conversations about something other than how cute we look. Lesson learned.
See You on the Floor!