So the update on “Operation Fancy Man” is that he now has a closet containing clothes that 1) fit and 2) aren’t full of holes. And while he won’t admit it I do believe H is enjoying having nice things to wear. He’s got a little more of a bounce in his step. After all, looking good always makes you feel good. In the same way that perky boobs make for a perky woman. At least that is what my mother always said when stressing the value of a good bra. Anyhoo, I digress.
I will admit that I’m slightly shocked that this once proud Metrosexual has allowed me and Fancy PA to completely take over his wardrobe. On one hand, I do have a pretty good idea of his likes and dislikes (yes to pink, no to white collars, yes to cuffed trousers, no to turtlenecks: “I look like a stuffed sausage!”). On the other, he is a man who knows what he likes. But I think he’s really appreciating how much time and effort I’ve spent trying to make his outside match the man on the inside.
And that’s not been the only surprise. Here’s a recent dinner conversation:
“Um, that’s a nice shirt. Where’d you get it?” I asked, enjoying a fabulous scallop starter at Massimo.
H looked up and stared at me for a moment. “You. You bought it.”
“Oh no, sir. I absolutely did not. Check the label, where’s it from?”
A quick peek inside the collar revealed the source: TM Lewin.
“Darling, I’ve never set food inside that shoppe. Never.” Giggles gave way to outright laughter, which became hysterical weeping. “The dry cleaners must have had a really big shirt and assumed it belonged to us!” I howled.
H started laughing too. “Ha ha! And that would explain that circus tent red striped thing I found in my closet too! Ha ha ha!!!”
“What?” I asked, suddenly straight faced. “No, that one I bought.”
“Oh,” he replied, suddenly very interested in his pasta. “Oh, it’s nice.”
Smart man, eh?
