Since we are on the topic of romance…
…doesn’t Spring send us such spiritual and, well, muscular energy?
One would hope so.
But alas, yesterday was no such day for my poor, poor husband.
We had a busy Saturday, all lined-up with shopping for a new car for me (another blog all itself), buying necessities (toilet paper, toothpaste, etc.), hanging a beautiful new print (an enchanting one, also a blog of its own), visiting our local Mac store for my brand new laptop.
But our first stop was a soccer game. Or little 3-year old grandson Jake has started playing soccer, and our son Adam is the coach of this precious little team.
Now I must go back to the early morning as I was planning out our day. Hmmm. What to wear for the entire day. It was supposed to heat up to 75 degrees or so. I would be in an out of many cars. The mall would probably be air-conditioned.
Yes, I sound old with all this talk of what to wear for various conditions.
Because I am. Old, that is.
But anyway. I dug out my my favorite olive-colored cotton cargo pants, the ones with the huge side pockets where I could put my cell phone and lip gloss and license rather than carry a pocket book.
Next, a black tank top. And then, a light black cotton jacket. Layers are wonderful.
Oh, but shoes? I love high, high, high anything, so out came my high, high, high black clogs. But I hate, hate, hate having cold feet… so hmmm.
Bare feet? No way. Socks? No way.
But as I dug through my sock drawer, I found a pair of black fishnet knee-highs. OK. Works for me.
So off we headed to stop #1, the soccer game.
(Now I must tell you here that my husband is (always has been) a romantic kind-of guy with warm and wonderful “good intentions.”)
So back to the soccer game. The sun was spectacular. The day was glorious.
Happy children’s voices filled the air.
And as my husband caught a glimpse of the black fishnet stockings… well, he thought romance was in the air too. (You know, that fabulously timeless and seductive “The Graduate” image of Dustin Hoffman and Anne Bancroft’s leg. After all, my husband has worked as a stand-in for Dustin Hoffman on the big screen!)
Ah. The poor guy. I could see in that fraction of a second that my husband saw seduction.
I started to laugh and said, “Honey, calm down. They’re not attached to a black garter belt.”
He said, “Pantyhose?” Kudos to him for even knowing there is one-step down from nylons and a garter.
I said, “No. Worse. Knee-highs.”
Oh, how to defeat seduction in one simple phrase.
But I give the guy credit. He laughed right along with me.
Wait a minute. Was it that funny?
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