It was 111 degrees in the house. Maybe 112.
I ran around pulling dresses out of closets, dressers, and yes even one overflowing laundry basket that I was absolutely certain had at least a fifty percent chance of being clean. In moments of fashion floundering, I’ve learned that you’ve gotta play the odds.
And so, I continued to run around the house. I raced and I ranted, while he stayed calm and carried on.
I bronzed, painted and eye lined. And when curly hair met two hundred percent humidity, I chignon’d with the best of them. And just then, as I put the last earring in and fastened the final strap, he rounded the corner wearing a red tie.
A red tie.
I looked down at my pink dress and sighed in exasperation. Sooo, I guess Victoria & David Beckham have nothing to worry about from us, huh?
But he just patted my arm and told me not to worry.
After all, red is basically the same as pink. Y’know, just in a deeper shade.
I guess if nothing else…you gotta love his logic.