not the hair
He tells me my hair looks funny and then ….it’s on. I want to say I hate his jacket and who looks good in orange anyway? I don’t. Instead I give him the look and ask “Why would you say that?”.
“Because I love you.”
How do you argue with ‘I love you’, even when you’re mad and know it’s just a cover up? I tell him he should be dressing naked women. He says don’t temp him.
The job would suit him. He pays more attention to what I wear than I do. Things like this:
“Those earrings are too dramatic.”
“The shoes. No.”
“This cut’s more flattering.”
My sister has a polar opposite. She once dressed in paint splattered sweatpants for a dinner party with a bazillionaire….just to see if her he would notice. He did. Said she looked great. “Whatever. Let’s go.”
Fair enough, she’s hot as hot. And he wore a ‘If you ain’t wasted you done it wrong, Class of ’93’ T-shirt to his own baptism. (It was white.) But even my sister couldn’t pull off painted joggers over fine wine and truffles.
She says I’m lucky. I say she is. We envy one another, and deep down know we’re both right.
Gentlemen, listen up. A man who knows the value of a pair of red French soles is a good one. But sometimes, we really don’t want to know how we look, even when we ask.
Get it? Got it? Good.