I have an ongoing love affair with fleece.
I guess you could say I’m sweet on sweats.
Unfortunately for me, my (now ex-) husband of twenty years was… not so much.
Just the opposite, in fact.
To him, “fleece” was the real “f-word,” an abomination, an obscenity.
In his world, real women didn’t wear sweats.
Real women always wore make-up, styled their hair, and wore cute clothes, regardless of the day’s agenda…
A day spent running after young kids, not leaving the house?
Look cute, he says!
A hectic trip to the grocery store, three young kids in tow?
Look cute, he says!
A day giving repeated asthma treatments to a distressed wheezing child?
Look cute!
Uh huh…
Now, mind you, on date nights I did just that–I looked cute. Really cute.
When I left for work in the morning, make-up on, hair styled, bright attractive outfit carefully chosen? I looked cute. (Yes, I did.)
But upon arrival back home, those constricting clothes and shoes were quickly peeled off, my face was washed clean of make-up residue, and my hair was pulled off my face up into ponytail… and sweats were donned. (Lovingly donned.)
Ah… comfort.
Security.
Warmth.
Much to my husband’s dismay. And disapproval. Lots of disapproval.
You might be wondering if he expressed appreciation for the times I rejected my beloved fleece in favor of “real” clothes, make-up, blow-dried hair. I wish I could answer with an affirmative.
But… no.
I will never forget the occasion of my 50th birthday—make-up and hair appropriately tended to, sporting a sparkly sequined tank top showing off my toned arms, black jeans. I looked good. (Even I thought so.)
Upon seeing me, a look of admiration flickered across his face, and before he could censor himself he inadvertently blurted out, “Wow. You look great.” This was immediately followed by a pained expression telling me he wished he could take back the unintended expression of open approval.
And so it was…
I lost my husband to divorce not long after.
As I look back I see him now as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Not surprisingly, upon our split he quickly went on to find himself a shiny new sheep—this time a fleeceless one— (she always wears cute clothes.)
I eventually found something and someone better: a man who not only approves of my wearing fleece, but actually buys it for me.
Yes, I lost my husband– but I kept the fleece.
Yes, I took the fleece—and wore it, too.
Baah….