Andrew: interrupting just another story wherein I describe someone's teeth in vivid detail, exclaims "SHUT UP!"
Me: stunned; raised eyebrows; mouth gaping; completely speechless
Having never directed those particularly mean words towards me before, I was simply confused. What did I do? What did I say to deserve such disrespect? How dare he?
But as he walked away, I realized that he wasn't walking away from the object of those bitter words [me], but instead towards it. So I followed in his wake and decided that once, just once in these five years of marriage, I'm not going to jump to unnecessary conclusions and take offense at what I thought he said. Instead, I will choose the higher road, breathe deeply, and take a moment to deconstruct the situation in order to understand the meaning of such a passionate explosion.
What I found in this moment was that Andrew also yielded raised eyebrows, a gaping mouth, and a speechless sort of way. All that he could do was point his finger towards the object of his passion: a window display in the popular boutique store, Francesca's. He pointed me towards this:
If you've been lucky enough to read my latest fashion-slash-financial (fashionancial?) advice on how we should no longer invest in gold, nay, but invest in denim [see Denim: The New Gold Part 1 & Part 2] then you will understand that in said moment of confusion, in said moment of spousal second chances, the only emotion I could feel was pride. I was proud because investing in denim was MY idea and has officially been thieved. I didn't copy it from someone. I didn't subconsciously steal it from the local billboard. Only I could come up with something so irrational that it sort of makes sense. I was not only proud of myself for pausing before taking offense but also proud of Andrew for actually reading and comprehending my frivolous writings!
In the meantime, I'll pretend Francesca's designers read 66B and like it.
In the meantime, I'll pretend that I have influenced just one person to fall back in love with their largely unflattering and androgynous denim overalls from decades past.
In the meantime, folks, listen to what everyone seems to be saying and go invest your gold in denim.
What I found in this moment was that Andrew also yielded raised eyebrows, a gaping mouth, and a speechless sort of way. All that he could do was point his finger towards the object of his passion: a window display in the popular boutique store, Francesca's. He pointed me towards this:
If you've been lucky enough to read my latest fashion-slash-financial (fashionancial?) advice on how we should no longer invest in gold, nay, but invest in denim [see Denim: The New Gold Part 1 & Part 2] then you will understand that in said moment of confusion, in said moment of spousal second chances, the only emotion I could feel was pride. I was proud because investing in denim was MY idea and has officially been thieved. I didn't copy it from someone. I didn't subconsciously steal it from the local billboard. Only I could come up with something so irrational that it sort of makes sense. I was not only proud of myself for pausing before taking offense but also proud of Andrew for actually reading and comprehending my frivolous writings!
In the meantime, I'll pretend Francesca's designers read 66B and like it.
In the meantime, I'll pretend that I have influenced just one person to fall back in love with their largely unflattering and androgynous denim overalls from decades past.
In the meantime, folks, listen to what everyone seems to be saying and go invest your gold in denim.
xoxo
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