We were excited about being invited to such a lavish event.
The fact that we were attending propelled us several steps up society’s ladder. We had the feeling of importance, and we must not allow any self-generated spectacle to occur tonight.
We dressed for the event for which we had both taken a shower. I had even additionally shaved and cut my toe nails. This was a very important event in our lives.
“Isn’t that dress too short?” I said. “If you wear it, you will certainly be the center of attention at the ball. It greatly oversteps the bounds of moderation.”
“Yes, I agree with you,” said my wife Jill. “But, Hank, it’s in style.”
“You mean you are committed to wear a piece of cloth that barely covers your panties, and gives the impression that you married me for much more than my money, just because it’s in style!”
“Well Hank, I have studied the most recent fashion magazines and this short dress has their approval.”
“That garment may have their approval. but it certainly doesn’t have mine. Please, with loads of sugar on it , do not wear that dress to the most important social event of the year.”
I was greatly surprised when she replied “Okay, do you think this will be appropriate?” Jill tried on a dress that both she and I thought was very stylish and the hemline only came halfway up her thighs. The dress was slightly revealing, but elegant.
“That is a wear,” I replied, and off we went to the society event of the year.
I felt very good about avoiding the argument that I felt sure was going to take place. When we got to the ball we were immediately seated next to two very cordial people we had never met. We engaged them in small talk before Jill asked them what they did professionally. When he replied “As little as possible,” I felt that the man in their household was a joker.
No, he was an accountant with his own firm and she was a housewife. They excused themselves to go to the restroom which gave us the opportunity to look around the room.
I was dumbfounded by what I saw.
All of the women were wearing the type of short dresses that I thought my wife shouldn’t wear.
They emulated style, I guess, and much revelation of their previously clothed bodies. Don’t misunderstand me, the revelation aspect of their new-found style was fully acceptable with me although it was also very unsophisticated.
I felt that the issue would transform into an argument as soon as we returned home. With this in mind, we decided to dance in that the couple who left for the restroom had not returned. On top of that we both drank some wine, which was very appropriate for me for only I knew what the future held. In fact, I had several glasses of wine which placed me in the category of being rather “tipsy.”
I was going to get Jill another glass of wine when I stumbled and bumped into the non-alcoholic punch bowl. It went sailing across the dance floor and crashed into the bandstand. On its journey the vast majority of the non-alcoholic liquid was lost on the dance floor.
I had managed to make the spectacle that I was trying to avoid, a reality.
We finally excused ourselves, now that dancing had been suspended for the evening and began that humiliating drive home. There would be no more dancing, stumbling and the drinking of wine that night.
We discussed the pros and cons and finally decided that Jill would drive home.
I was very surprised for the second time that evening when there was no argument.
In closing let me relate to you what I think of style. Well, first of all it sells many clothes and secondly there was the issue of the turtleneck sweater.
One Christmas Eve I wore a turtleneck sweater to a party. When we got home and were fully rested, Jill made me throw the sweater in the trash. Her reasoning was that the sweater, although good looking, was not in style. Two years later turtleneck sweaters came back in style.
So, we had to go out and buy a new turtleneck sweater which really didn’t look as good as the old one.
Also I have banners pasted on the walls of our home which read simply S.S. I tell Jill that those two letters are the acronym for Somebody Special which is the name of my gift shop. Truth is, that isn’t the meaning at all.
S.S. really stands for “Style Sucks.”