Today is our 8th wedding anniversary. After having a great evening out, we put the kids to bed and high-tailed it to the bedroom. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's not like that.
Well, not yet, anyway.
Michael bought me a new dress; he couldn't wait for me to try it on. It's funny...he often buys me pieces of clothing and says, "I know it's a little outside your box, but just try it." Yet when I purchase something I think is outside my box and cute...and I've actually seen it on fashion blogs (I'm lying a little)...he's appalled and usually raises his eyebrows at me.
Back to the dress. Bear with me while I describe it, because I'm sure I won't do it justice. It's quite cute, but yes, outside of my box. The top is grey (my fave!) with a ruffle detail down the front (good), then the bottom, which looks like a separate piece, but isn't, is a blue, grey, black and red wool plaid.
As Michael anxiously awaits the fashion show, I examine the romper-for-a-30-something. No zipper on the back or side-- just lots of tiny buttons down the front of the "top." I undo the buttons and step into it. Michael has a bit of a view and sees that I'm instantly in a pickle. The thing is never going over my hips. He calls out, "It's a medium, right?"
"Yes," I reply. "I just can't figure out how to get it on." I step out of it and throw it over my head. As I start to pull the skirt down, I realize my arms are completely stuck, straight up in the air. Now I look like E.T. Sexy for your anniversary night, right?
Nope.
I'm starting to panic because it's actually really tight around my chest. Michael hops up and tries to help, but I get a fit of giggles...partially because I'm nervous that we have to cut it off, but I'm also feeling extremely vulnerable because my arms are stuck above my head and I'm certain that if he tickles me, I'll stop breathing. I can barely breath as it is.
So as I "run" from him, saying over and over, "Don't tickle me, please. Don't tickle, don't tickle," he's trying to catch Wife E.T.
He stands in front of me, pulls my arms down, which means I'm totally bent at the waist (his ploy to have me bow to him?) and he's pulling hard on the dress. Doesn't budge.
Now I'm really laughing because I catch a glimpse of us in a mirror. Oh god. Really? It's only been eight years and we're already here? I'm in Hanes Her Way undies, trying on a dress that's obviously too small for me and now I'm STUCK in it.
Finally, we get a shoulder out of it and I can breathe. I have red marks, though, to prove we struggled. When he frees me of the rest of it, he examines it because he's sure I've missed an obvious entry into it.
Again, nope. So he admits it's a crazy-ass garment and he'll be returning it to tomorrow. Whew. Now we can start over and have a nice night.
"Wait," I say. Just don't kiss my neck, I just put acne cream on it."
And just like that, I kill the mood for the second time that evening. Ahhh...wedded bliss!
