Mid Week With Pete

Monday Pete had a fashion show for me.  It was impromptu.  It was strange seeing a man flinging clothes around the bedroom.  And by the end, both of us were tired.

Usually it's Pete who sits in bed and watches me pull out random tops and bottoms.  I try one of each on, twirl in the closet mirror and decide one piece doesn't fit.  I take the offending piece off, replace it with another, do the twirl and ponder my choices again.  After a few changes I turn around and look at Pete while glancing at the mess of clothes on the floor and my corner of the bed.  By this time he's usually smiling and sometimes giggling.  He thinks girls are weird with their clothes. 

I keep telling Pete that clothes feel different on different days.  They hang differently, they lay differently, they're longer or shorter, or wider or shrunken.  Usually he smiles and shakes he head and just agrees to be agreeable.

Monday was different.  I sat on the bed in my narcotic haze with the remainder of a migraine.  He disappeared for a short time and reappeared  at the end of the bed with his wedding suit on and a huge grin.  "It fits!'  And fit it did!  He looked so handsome in it and I remembered the hot fall day we said our "I do's."  Then he disappeared and came back without the suit, but with a few shirts.  He tried those on and needless to say, ended up trying on his whole closet for me.  (Remember we live in a tiny townhouse so his whole closet isn't much more than the backseat of a Porsche.)

He'd pull on pants that he barely fit into 90 days ago and let go of them.  We'd both watch as they fell to the floor.  He'd pull on pants that haven't fit in 2 years and smile as he buttoned them up.  Some pants were kept, like the ones in the picture for his first bariatric center visit, so he can take a truly after picture.  Some were put in the donate pile that I have going. 

When he started on the shirts I commented how it was a good thing he hadn't just shaved his head.  2 days stubble creates friction when taking off his shirts and it sounds like a Brillo-pad scrubbing the sink.  No, Monday night his head slid in and out of shirt after shirt.  Most were way to big and created a bell effect with the bottom hem "dinging" around his hips while the top hung way past his shoulders.

By the end we were both tired.  The constant judging had done my headache in.  The constant trying on had done Pete in.  There were less clothes in the closet and more clothes in the donation pile. 

And Pete?  He had a smile.