How to Scare Your Husband

The other day, I made my husband come home for forty five minutes in between work and tennis because I was losing my mind. Baby J is adorable beyond our wildest dreams, but not so much when I need to help the big boys with homework or cook dinner. He likes to wedge himself in between my legs and the cabinets, then complain loudly because it hurts. Fun times. Fortunately, this latest fiasco led to my beginning an active search for a lovely young woman to come help out in the afternoons. I can't wait. Ooh! Maybe I can even get a Manny! Or is the manny trend over?

Anyhow, as my husband was leaving the house with He Who Must Be Obeyed, one of the nice ladies from Van Jean was walking up the driveway with a package. For me! Hooray! Van Jean is one of my absolute favorite stores (okay, probably my favorite, but I have to be fair), but it isn't exactly for thrifty shoppers. In my defense, I'm usually pretty thrifty and I wait for sales and troll EBay, but there are times when you just have to get what you want. My husband was terrified that I had become such a gracious patron of Van Jean that they delivered right to my doorstep. Not exactly. A week ago, I went there with a skirt I already own to find a shirt to match. Those ladies were so nice and patient. I tried on about twenty shirts, pretty close to closing time, and they didn't bat an eye, at least not so I could see them. And they know I'm not the type to spend much; I usually try on twenty things and buy nothing. Not this time. There was one shirt I loved; it went with the skirt, but would also look great with jeans. Alas, it was not my size. Lovely ladies of Van Jean to the rescue! As they offered to order the smaller size, I forgot any reservations I had about the price. Poof!

When the shirt arrived, they realized they didn't have my phone number. So they called Kristy at Tullulah, who didn't have my number. And they called Kicks. No luck there either. They all had my address, but no phone number, and we're unlisted. They decided the easiest thing to do was just show up at my house. I felt like a movie star. Except for the messy kitchen. I know this story was less than interesting, but it shows, once again, that shopping local business pays. Or, um, helps you spend. Or something.

I was going to wear the shirt to a wedding last weekend, but it didn't arrive in time. The shirt is perfect for the upcoming Morrissey show, I think, and a benefit we're going to on Thursday. There will be real rock stars at the benefit and the shirt has kind of a New Romantic thing going on. I realized rocking the New Romantic style dates me, but maybe I'll start a new trend. I'll be wearing it with skinny black jeans and heels, by the way, not the aforementioned skirt. That look will have to wait.

The shirt is French, so I took a picture of it in front of the only French piece of furniture we own, a cool secretaire with lots of hidden compartments from my mother in law (who is an actual French person).

Namasté, y'all!