My wife stood in our walk-in closet and said, "Does this look okay?" She was wearing a black sweater with olive pants.
I instantly panic anytime she asks me that. It's not like I have PTSD about it or anything, she's never shrilled at me for giving an insensitive answer, but it occurs to me that there is an insensitive answer floating in the air, and I want desperately to avoid snatching it from the ether and serving it up to her. So I looked at her and said, "Yeah." I wasn't sure about the pants though, and said so. It wasn't that the pants looked bad. Or that the sweater looked bad. It was that I wasn't sure the olive pants "went" with the black sweater. I told her so.
She moved to the bathroom and observed herself. She pulled the sweater down self consciously, then pulled it down again as it rose up. I wondered if she thought it was too short.
"Is it too short, do you think? You keep pulling it down."
"Maybe," she mused. "I wonder if it would look better with different pants."
"Maybe let me get my first pair of pants before you start in on pair number two."
She graciously stepped aside as I grabbed a hanger with pants, and moved back into the bedroom to change into them.
When I looked up she was wearing black pants. My brow furrowed involuntarily but she already had second thoughts. "Maybe the gray ones?"
I shrugged and said, "Maybe let me get my shirt before you start in on pair number three." She grabbed pair number three as I left the walk-in closet and finished dressing. I made the bed and went downstairs to start breakfast. It was her turn to wake Lily and bring her downstairs.
She was already at the table eating before she said, "You didn't notice."
I hadn't, whatever it was, "Notice what?"
"I changed my pants and my sweater." Pair four and sweater two...such is the life of a woman, I suppose.
I stirred my greek yogurt. I like greek yogurt. It's actually really good for you, and can be tasty, but when you first open it, it separates a little. There's a milky liquid atop it with globs of yogurt and it looks completely unappetizing. Once stirred to homogeneity, however, it's like ice cream. I stirred too vigorously and some slopped over the edge of the container. I didn't really notice until i saw it on the place mat. I mopped this up with a napkin before noticing it on my shirt.
"You're going to have to change your shirt, Daddy," said Emma.
"I am if I can't get this out," I responded, daubing at it.
I finished my breakfast and began to stand. There on my crotch was the rest of the yogurt. Apparently it was quite a load. And...well if we're being honest...looked like one. I laughed. "Lovely"
My wife and daughter laughed. "How did you not know?" I had no good answer for this.
"Okay, well I guess that answers that. I'm going upstairs to change."
I figured I might as well take the shirt off even though it was the least of my worries. I found a pair of pants and grabbed a sweater off the shelf. I put these on before taking my "soiled" clothes to the basement to rinse them in water, spray "Shout" on them, and dump them in the wash basin for the next laundry run.
I drove Emma to the bus stop after saying goodbye to Lily and Leslie. When the bus picked Emma up I watched them drive out of sight.
It was only then that I noticed I was wearing a black sweater with olive pants.