We celebrated our seven-year wedding anniversary a few weekends early this year.
So like any good wife, who hasn’t bought lingerie since the honeymoon, I planned to stop by Victoria’s Secret to awkwardly decide between sparkly breasts and strangely placed bows while telling myself over and over that I can NOT buy another pair of sweatpants.
The thing about life with two kids and working part-time is I kinda happen to already be ON my date with Scott when I finally get to Victoria’s Secret. I meant to go the week before, but instead I bought N socks and E another pair of soccer pants (except this time with ZIPPERS AT THE BOTTOM! When I gave them to E, he took off his pants and shoes and then put BACK ON his shoes before pulling up his new pants. We oohed and aahed how he would never have to take off his shoes again. And also that I’m the coolest mama ever.)
Scott rolls with my faux pas (he appreciates a good pair of soccer pants) but decides that I should surprise him anyway. We make a pact to meet outside in twenty minutes. (By the way, I have my iPhone off in an effort to be fully present so I have no idea how I’m going to know when to be done. But my husband definitely found that gesture sexier than anything Victoria’s Secret has to offer so I just hoped for the best. Also, I’m not sure why we had to make a pact either.)
I enter armed with my small boobs and penchant for flannel over see-through. A Victoria’s Secret saleswoman accosts me eyeing a silk and lacy number and remarks: I didn’t think that would be comfortable but I LOVE it. I don’t ever want to take it off. I wear it to bed every night.
And I think: Thanks for forcing the visual but I’m pretty sure that I’m not rocking my baby back to sleep in that every night. Also, do you sleep with eighteen blankets? It was 32 degrees last night.
And I say: Thanks.
And once she moves away, I edge towards things I can pretend other people don’t wear in bed.
I finally settle on something that doesn’t leave a trail of glitter or require a course in buckling. I pay and leave, and Scott’s nowhere to be found.
I sit. And sit. And sit.
Scott finally appears with a bag from Dillards and a smile.
Scott: DON’T LOOK.
I think: Sexy high heels? Stinky aftershave? Banana hammock?
When we get changed for dinner, Scott announces: Time for the big reveal!
And he comes out in cute underwear. And MAN SPANX.
Scott: I told the salesperson that you’re wearing spanx tonight, and I wanted to match you because sometimes you feel weird wearing spanx. Also, she said I’d love them and they’re good for your posture.
Now, THAT’S true love.
PS. After dinner, I hear a cry, then a bang.
Me: Are you okay?
Scott: I’m stuck.
Scott: In the spanx.
So after five minutes of me standing on the bed pulling man spanx over Scott’s writhing body, he cries: FREEDOM. (or something like that)
Reenactment. Also, he may or may not get stuck again:
Happy Anniversary my dear.
Thanks for all the love.
And blog fodder.