Ruffled feathers

by Katie on August 25, 2009

I’ve been fairly in touch with my husband’s likes and dislikes for quite some time now, but I recently came across a couple more things he’s not so fond of. He let me know.

One day while Mason was visiting, we had about 45 minutes to kill in the midst of our work, so we ran over to the SuperTarget about a mile from Brandon’s Grandma’s house to walk around in the air conditioning.
As always, I made a quick pass through the women’s clearance racks. This is what my idea of “shopping” consists of. When I have to go into a store that sells clothing for some other reason (groceries, Band-Aids, computer gear), I pass by the clearance section. It has treated me pretty well so far. I realized a couple months ago I haven’t spent more than $8 on any one article of clothing since I moved to Arizona.
Until this one day. A bright yellow shirt in the middle of the rack caught my eye.

Of course, the first thing I checked was the price tag. The red clearance price was $11. Out of my self-appointed price range. I almost didn’t even try it on. But there was something about this shirt I really liked, so I took it to the dressing room against my better judgment.
And it fit perfectly. I loved it. I spent the next 20 minutes trying to decide if I was going to buy it. I told Mason about my dilemma, but he just rolled his eyes.
Now, Brandon normally doesn’t have much of an opinion about my clothing choices. Even when I beg for one. I guess it’s because he likes most everything else in my wardrobe. Until the yellow ruffle shirt.
He didn’t know what to call the ruffles. He just knew he didn’t like them.
“It just has all that stuff on the front,” he said, “It’s just all out there. And you’ve never worn anything like that. Maybe that’s what it is. You just don’t normally wear clothes like that.”
Nope. The next time I tried to put it on?
“I just really don’t like that shirt.”
So I’ll look forward to a Girls’ Night, where I can wear my yellow ruffled shirt.
There’s only so much you can do with short hair. This last time I got mine cut, I wanted to do something a little out of the ordinary. I saw a few pictures with chunky bangs, and decided to go for it.
The lady didn’t even make them that thick and chunky. Just thick enough they were obvious. When we were getting ready for Jamie Rovey’s rehearsal dinner, Brandon walked by the mirror while I was working on the bangs.
He said, “Those things make it look like you’re from the 1970s.”
“What, my bangs? I kind of liked them. And Mason gave me a thumbs up the day I got them.” (Seriously, that’s what he did. He was my consultant before I left to get it cut, and approved the bang decision. When I got back, he just walked in the house, gave a silent thumbs up, and left.)
After several different days of conversation like this, I finally asked him over the weekend, “So no more bangs next time, huh?”
“Nah, I like you better the other way.”
Note: None of Brandon’s comments about the ruffles or bangs were in bad taste. They weren’t against me – they all referenced the ruffles and the bangs. We’re just very straightforward and honest about things like that. And I like it that way.

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