Saturday, January 17, 2009
Prior to our meeting, my husband had a love affair. A love affair with the sweater vest. To my satisfaction, he then took a six year hiatus from the sleeveless golfer’s delight. To be quite honest, I didn’t miss it. However, this past Christmas his father very generously gave him, among other things, four shiny new sweater vests. As he untied the ribbon and opened the box, his eyes lit up and sparkled. If I remember correctly, there may have even been a tear in his eye. He immediately tried it on over his clothes, thus beginning our re-adventure into his fashion fetish.
The following is an actual conversation he and I had prior to meeting a friend for dinner one night. Hand on the Bible. Pinky promise. Girl Scout’s honor (I wasn’t a girl scout). No kidding. We were getting ready to walk out the door and I was reaching into the closet for my coat because it was January and four degrees outside. That’s right. Four degrees.
Me: "You better get your coat. It’s really cold." (Yes, I know he’s a grown man)
Husband: "Ok, will you hand me the brown one without sleeves?"
Me: (My mouth gaped open.) "That’s a vest, Brantley. A jacket without sleeves is a vest."
Husband: "Yeah I know, Lori. Whatever. Just hand it to me please."
Me: "But you already have on a sweater vest. If you put this one on as well, you will be wearing two vests."
Husband: "Just gimme the damn thing!"
Me: "Are we going to stop and go rock climbing on the way to the Chinese restaurant? I’m just wondering. I mean, why else would someone need to warm their core while having full range of motion in their arms?"
He began expressing his angst by sighing in a sort of “don’t start this” kind of fashion and I ultimately lost the battle when he reached around me and grabbed the vest himself. I had tried to block the closet with my body, but it was no use. So, my son and I went to dinner wrapped up like Eskimos at Christmas, flanked by the vested wonder who was wearing a thin long sleeve shirt and two vests, one cottony sweater type for “style” and a jacket type vest for warmth.
My hope for the future is that his taste in vests will change, but if that doesn’t work then I can hope for a band of renegade moths to storm his closet leaving nothing but clothes hangers.
This is a picture of my son, Luke taken recently. He is seven months old and thus cannot talk but if he could I think he would be saying, “One day I too will wear a sweater vest.”