Oh yes he did, Part II

Last week, after The Dad pronounced my outfit frumpy (he hates that I keep saying that), the next day we went to the mall.  That's right.  We went to the mall on a Friday night with The Daughters.  (That sentence could easily be used to prove our lack of competency.)  We strolled into a typical mall clothing store and began our night of torture.


I would pick up a cute blouse, and he'd wrinkle his nose.  He would show me a fancy top, and I'd roll my eyes.  This went on and on and on.  We even involved other shoppers.  One lady actually walked up to me and whispered in covert-spy form, "The white looks good.  Go with the white."

I eventually had eight different combinations in my hand and headed to the dressing room.  I would emerge from the stall and whistle for The Dad to look up from his game of Words With Friends. He'd give me a nod if it met with his approval, a shoulder shrug if he wasn't convinced or a eye brow furrowing if it was a no.  After my fourth outfit, I emerged and hysterically asked where The Daughters were because it was Friday night at the mall, and we hadn't seen them in a few minutes (or many minutes, maybe an hour).  They were trying on E-cup padded bras.  It was all good.

After an eternity doing the one thing I really hate to do, we both agreed on an outfit.  I was set. We went home and crashed.

Saturday night at the cast party, I referred to my hubby as "metro".  My cast mates (and new friends) then told me about their hubbies and their eyeglasses addictions.  I changed my term to "almost-metro."

This is actually when I spotted The Dad in the audience!
From left, Misti Pryor, Jasmine Banks, Angie Albright
and Me!
Photo stolen from courtesy of TheCityWire.com

Sunday, The Dad dropped me off at Walton Arts Center and I took my new outfit in and proceeded to get ready.

"Babe," he called as I shut the van door behind me, "You look beautiful."  I wasn't even wearing my outfit.  In fact, I was wearing a stained shirt and no make up.  I didn't need an outfit to own the stage.  I just needed the love of a good almost-metro man.

When it was my turn to read, I walked to the stage. I was blinded by the lights.  I read my part.  I paused for the laughter.  Many times, I paused for the laughter.  Then I walked off stage.

When the show came to an end, I again walked to the stage with the other Mothers, raised my hands with the other Mothers and took a bow. I looked out into the audience, and I saw my biggest supporter, my confidence-instiller, my best friend... the man who thinks I'm beautiful.  And then I breathed easier knowing I had loving companionship in my almost-metro husband.

Tune in on Sunday to read my Listen To Your Mother piece!