I digress as usual.
So, last night I felt fantastic. I was monitor free, squeaky clean and we were going to a fancy charity event, to see and talk to people we weren't married to. I sashayed my way down the hall to the guest room, stepped into the doorway and struck a pose for Husband.
And Husband looked up from his ironing, gave me the once over, pursed his lips in a non-Victoria Secret sexy way and shook his head, "No."
And just like that, my mood, my self-confidence, my Victoria Secret sexy self was gone. The world came crashing down and the screaming started. I spit out cuss words like a machine gun on automatic. I was layering cuss words on top of cuss words on top of cuss words. I lobbed insults at him, at our marriage, his manhood, and his lack of tact. And then I stomped off, threw off the shirt that apparently made me "short and wide" and started pulling shirts out of the closet all the while screaming, "Arg! Why did you do that? Now I have nothing to wear." Tigger the Dog, feeding off the crazy, began following me around, baby in her mouth, nose in my crotch. Her over-attentiveness to my wellbeing did not help the situation. Neither did my shouting at her. Or trying to run into another room while shouting at Husband to, "Get your damn dog off me!"
Now, before you before you burn Husband at the stake, you need to know that the number one thing I found most attractive thing about him when we met was his all out honesty. I would rather not go out into the world looking "short and wide" -especially not any wider than the eleven years of blissful togetherness has given me - and I was thrilled to find someone who had my best interests at heart. True love is really telling someone that they don't look great in an outfit or that they have spinach in their teeth or a bat in their cave. That being said, telling me I look like a fat striped house (my interpretation of his words) five minutes before walking out the door is not going to go down well. Especially when I'm self conscious about all my fluffy bits and my heart monitor suction cup boob wounds and my lack of wardrobe that fits the new fluffy bits and hides the boob wounds.
It was a long five minutes. There was a lot of flinging of clothing to punctuate my free flying curse words. Husband took refuge with TTD in another room as I tried on and discarded tops, self esteem dropping lower and lower as each top moved from the possible pile to the "What the hell was I thinking?" pile. It was getting bleak.
And then, miraculously I found a top that didn't make me feel like I'd put lipstick on a pig. A top that actually made me feel better than the original outfit that had spawned my mother of all temper tantrums. A top that actually made Husband freaking right to have voiced his opinion. A top that made me feel Victoria Secret sexy without any bits on display.
And that, dear friends, was way worse.
Because while the truth hurts, the "I told you so..." mortally wounds. Forever I will know he was right because forever he is bound to remind me.
I've said this before and my opinion hasn't changed, marriage is a series of little skirmishes. Husband has won this war. At least I looked good as I limped away from the battle. Little things...