Call me Karen. Karen with the new jeans.

I’ve become such a homebody lately. It’s that time of year. The doldrums have set in. It’s dark when I leave for work and dark not long after I get home. The days have been cloudy. I’ve fallen out of my exercise routine. Sleeping feels like the greatest thing ever and I when I stop to think about my routine (or lack thereof) lately, I feel like a slug.

I would like to embrace winter, but it’s currently one degree outside. One degree Fahrenheit. That’s minus seventeen Celsius, for the record. Tonight is reportedly going to be the coldest night of the season to date with a low between twelve and seventeen below. That’s 24 to 27 below Celsius, in case you were wondering. I’m really not embracing winter now. MORE BLANKETS ON THE BED!

So I’ve not really done much of anything recently, other than go to work. Work has been good this week. No word from the CEO on whether I’ve provided him a winning headline for the new brochure, but there are lots of other positive things happening and I’m happily busy. And I’ve made major progress on a particular ongoing problem. I’ve been having trouble downloading reports from an external website for three months. I’ve been in regular communication for a month now with an IT representative of the company. Lots of emails flying back and forth between us, every one of them containing my name (Terri) in the email address and my name (Terri) in the email signature.  Today she sent me (Terri) another email and addressed me as Karen. I wondered for a moment who Karen was and why I was receiving her email. Then I realized that I was Karen. I think I like Terri better, but I guess I’ll let her call me Karen in the interest of continued progress.

That’s all  just work though. There’s more to life.

The local Winter Carnival is going on. There are snow and ice sculptures I want to see. But as I mentioned, it’s dark. And one degree. Maybe even colder by now. It’ll warm up some by the weekend, so I’m hoping to go see those sculptures in the daylight and (relative) warmth.

So tonight I decided I would not sit home for hours after work doing nothing but being a slug. I got some coupons in the mail recently for my favorite clothing store. This store is not necessarily known for great prices, but they have things that fit me, namely pants that come in long lengths. And sometimes they have really good sales.

So I ventured out into the dark and the cold (and did I mention the wind?) I had my two coupons – one for a decent chunk of money off my purchase of a decent dollar amount, the other for an even bigger chunk of money off an even bigger purchase. I figured I might use the smaller coupon. I’ve never used the bigger one. Being a regular customer, I receive these kinds of coupons on a regular basis.

There weren’t very many people in the store, probably because of the aforementioned dark and cold (and wind.) I headed straight to the back of the store where the jeans are located, because jeans are what I was in search of. I saw a sign that said the jeans were buy one, get one half off. As I was trying to figure out if my coupons were a better deal than the sale, a helpful sales girl asked if I was finding what I needed. I already had several pairs of jeans slung over my arm, so I said yes. She noticed this and said, “Oh, you’re buying jeans! They’re buy one, get one half off, you know.”

“I see that,” I said. I then asked hopefully, “So can I combine that sale with the coupons for so much off a purchase of so much?”

“Yes, you sure can,” she said! Bubbly girl, she was.

I loaded up my arms with lots of jeans and went to try them on. These were the jeans that I normally wouldn’t even consider because of their price, but with all this money off, I thought I’d give them a try.

JeansBack in the fitting room, I pulled on the jeans and they fit like a glove, all of them. I was ecstatic. And only a woman can really appreciate the magnitude of finding the perfect jeans on the first try. It’s a rarity. When it comes to women’s jeans, you can take three pairs of the exact same style in the exact same size and each of them might fit just a little differently than the others. Successfully shopping for women’s jeans is one of the great mysteries in life.

I went to the register with four pairs. Another bubbly sales girl working the register told me it was like I got a pair free with the buy one, get one deal. And then she scanned in my coupon and said it was like I got another pair free. And when I came home and explained to Mark that yes, I had four new pairs of jeans but really only paid for two, I could see that he wasn’t quite buying the story. Because he’s a man. And he doesn’t care if the jeans he buys fit his butt just right and fit his hips just right. And that’s okay. I don’t expect him to get it. Besides, price and savings and coupons didn’t matter to him at all. I knew this when he asked me if the new jeans made my butt look hot. This didn’t dignify a response other than the rolling of my eyes.

So this was my great excitement for the week. Jeans. So sad. Good thing I’m going to Arizona next week for a little change of scenery and temperature. My life should seem at least a bit more exciting after a nice visit to a warmer climate.

In the meantime, I’ll remain Boring Karen.


Underwear? Under there?

This is what I love about girlfriends: You can ask them things that in polite conversation would probably cause raised eyebrows.For instance, in polite conversation, you can’t just ask someone if they’re in the habit of wearing underwear or not. But in girlfriend-conversation, you can ask, and they’ll answer honestly and not even think you’re strange for asking.

I went to the gym this morning for Step Aerobics and Body Works classes, as has become my Saturday morning routine. Upon entering the room, I spied my friend, Lori. We chatted a bit, talking about weekend plans. She’s having people over tonight. This being my loner weekend when the husband works all night and sleeps all day, my plans are a bit more low-key. I’m going to start watching the DVDs Lori loaned me – Mad Men Season 1 – so I can participate in the Mad Men conversations that happen during lunch break. Because clearly I do not watch enough t.v. to keep up with the lunchtime conversations.

Soon enough, the class began. We stepped and kicked and mamboed for an hour.  (Yes, we did the mambo! That was fun!) And we sweated our butts off.

After Step Aerobics, there was a fifteen minute break before Body Works began. Lori and I grabbed some hand weights and waited for the class to fill up. While we waited, Lori looked around at the others in the room and remarked that we were all wearing Easter colors. For some reason that reminded me of a gym-wardrobe question that had been plaguing me.

I asked Lori, “See everyone wearing the yoga style pants and capris like mine?”


“Are you supposed to wear underwear under those?”

For the record, this is NOT my butt.

Lori didn’t bat an eye. She looked at me and said, “I wear underwear when I have a looser style on. But when I wear those kind, I don’t. I think a lot of people go without when they wear yoga pants. But I think it’s a matter of personal preference. Why?”

“Well, I was noticing at home that if someone were to look at my butt, they could probably see the outline of my bikinis underneath. When I look at my butt in the mirror, I can see the outline.”

Not that I was studying my own butt. Okay, so maybe I was. I’ve been working hard. I might have wanted to see if it was getting toned. This is when the underwear line dilemma was discovered. I’ve also been known to do that body-builder pose in front of the mirror to see if all this work has had any sculpting effects on my arms and shoulders. It has, but it’s only really noticeable so far if I flex. Oh well.

Lori shrugged, signalling that I was worrying needlessly about underwear.

“You’re probably right, I said. “Not that anyone is probably looking at my butt while we’re busy working out, anyway,” I  was trying to make myself feel better. It didn’t work because clearly I was checking out other ladies’ butts to see if I could see the outline of their undies. And believe me, in many cases, I could not find one!

“Well, I don’t look at your butt,” Lori laughed, swatting me playfully on the arm! “But I’m gonna now!”

And then Body Works began and I was almost too busy lunging and lifting my weights to worry about whether or not the outline of my underwear was visible to others. So there’s one worry I can check off the list of many. And I can relax now that I know that going commando is an acceptable practice at the gym.

Food is Love

Somewhere in my upbringing, I must have picked up on the belief that food equals love.

This weekend was one to have all of my kids at home, a make-up for two weekends ago when a winter storm kept Brad and Heather away. I took the day off on Friday so that I might prepare for this special weekend. There were things that needed doing, things like cleaning house and picking up my daughter from school. But top priority on my to-do list was grocery shopping. I simply felt that I couldn’t adequately welcome my kids back home without a well-stocked refrigerator and cupboards. I also wanted to have all of the ingredients to make the foods my kids were craving and had requested that I make for them sometime over the weekend.

My day began early on Friday. After a visit to the gym, I showered and dressed and then proceeded to make a grocery list and clip coupons. At the grocery store, I filled a cart to the brim with all the things on my list and then some. I got it all home and put away just in time to go pick up Kacey from school.

It was a beautiful, sunny day on Friday and the drive to and from Kacey’s school was pleasant. I enjoyed having one-on-one mom and daughter time in the car on the way home. And once we were back home, it wasn’t long before Connor arrived and the two of them hung out with me for a while. Kacey helped me out by making the barbecue sauce for the ribs Brad had asked me to make. When the sauce was done, I covered the ribs and wrapped them in foil. They went in the fridge to marinate overnight. Before long, Kacey’s friends, home on spring break, were beckoning her and Connor to come hang out. I agreed that Kacey could go, only because I still wanted to clean house and it would be several hours before Brad and Heather arrived anyway.

It was a quiet afternoon and early evening, but as I did my cleaning and prepared dinner, I thought how the quiet wouldn’t last. Soon Mark would come home from work. Soon kids and dogs would descend upon the tranquility and stir things up good. And they did. We had a late dinner on Friday once all had arrived. The kitchen was a mess as I had been busy preparing baked fish, sauteed zucchini, tossed salad and biscuits for a full table full of people instead of the usual two or three of us. Everyone gathered round the table to eat together and catch up with one another. All of those surfaces I’d spent the day cleaning and decluttering were soon cluttered again with car keys and phones, water bottles and various belongings. And I didn’t even mind. My kids were home. Everyone helped clean up afterwards and afterwards everyone found a place to lounge and wind down for the evening.

Saturday morning came early. Lucy was too excited, wanting to play with her pal Dacotah to bother sleeping in. I let the dogs out in the back yard and prepared to watch the chasing games begin. But they never did. Dacotah was ready to run and play, but she couldn’t get Lucy to engage. Dacotah would try to wrestle with Lucy, and Lucy would just roll over on her back. She would roll around on the ground a bit, but she wouldn’t run.

When the dogs were ready to come back in the house, I noticed that Lucy wasn’t racing up the deck steps, full speed ahead like she normally does. She took the stairs slowly, almost gingerly. She’d been doing this off and on for a few days but I’d thought maybe she’d just pulled a muscle racing around the yard like she always does. Now I was getting worried. If she wasn’t keeping pace with Dacotah, something must be wrong.

Neither Mark nor Brad thought anything serious was wrong and both suggested I wait until Monday to go to the vet, but I was worried. Mark must have been more worried than he let on too. While Heather and I went to a class at the gym, Mark called the vet. They had limited Saturday hours, but had an opening at 11:20 and could see Lucy.

I showered after the gym, then went with Mark and Lucy to the vet. We explained why we thought something was wrong. She’d gone from being fast and fearless to slow and careful. We explained the biggest red flag being the fact that she wouldn’t play with our son’s dog. Mark explained how Lucy has a habit of sleeping, curled up so tight in a ball that she must be stiff and sore when she awakens. He described her ability to lay flat on her belly with her front legs straight out in front of her, and her hind legs stretched out straight back. Maybe these were reasons for whatever was ailing her.

“I’ve never seen a dog do that before,” Mark said.

The doctor checked out Lucy’s feet and toes. He studied and felt her legs and knees. She never once whined or yelped. Finally he said, “I don’t believe there’s anything wrong in her feet or legs. Her knees are fine.” He hesitated then before saying, “I think it’s her hip.”

I felt a mild panic when he said that. I heard the words Hip Displasia in my head. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but had heard enough about it to know it wasn’t good. I assured myself, though that I was overreacting and doing so too soon. And then the vet said those words. He said, “Not all dogs who can stretch out as you’ve described have Hip Displasia, but most dogs who have Hip Displasia are able to stretch out that way.

“I’m going to take Lucy for an x-ray,” the vet said.

While my dog willing followed him out of the room, I googled Hip Displasia on my iPhone and learned that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Lucy had it and that there were several forms of treatment including surgery. Still, I was keeping my fingers crossed that it wasn’t that.

Unfortunately, the finger crossing didn’t do much good. The vet and Lucy came back and it was confirmed that she has Hip Displasia. This condition, according to Wikipedia, is an abnormal formation of the hip socket that, in its more severe form, can eventually cause crippling lameness and painful arthritis of the joints.

I could feel tears beginning to sting my eyes. I know there are some who might say she’s just a dog. But she’s not just a dog to me. She’s the one who is always there for me. When I come home, she greets me as if I’m the greatest person in the world. She snuggles me when I need snuggling and she keeps me from feeling alone and lonely during those times when none of my people are around. She makes me laugh and she loves me. I love her. It makes me sad to think of her in such pain. And she was in obvious pain.

So, we were given options for treatment. Some of them are expensive. We have some thinking to do, but I’m thinking it won’t be a tough decision. We’ll figure out a way to make our puppy-girl feel better. The vet gave her some anti-inflammatory medication and said she should be feeling better in a day. She’ll need to take the meds every day, at least until we decide what course of treatment to go with.

When we came home we told the kids what was wrong. Of course they wanted to know what Lucy’s options were. As we talked about it, Mark made a comment that made me think he’d prefer to take the least expensive route, which means Lucy will eventually suffer more than she is now. With that thought in mind, tears threatened to come again. I escaped to the lower level of the house before anyone could notice. But I didn’t go unnoticed. Brad came downstairs behind me and wrapped me in a hug, saying, “Don’t cry, Mom. She’ll be okay. It’s not like you’re losing her.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m worried that Dad doesn’t want to spend the money to help her. I can tell she’s in pain and I feel so bad. Everywhere she goes in this house, even to get to the yard, she has to travel up and down steps.”

“You guys will do what she needs,” Brad said. “I know you will.”

I didn’t know, but I felt a little better.

Brad said the ribs I’d made for him for lunch were delicious. I didn’t notice. I felt like the vet’s news had put a damper on the day.

This morning, Mark said to me, “So we need to figure out the best way to pay for Lucy’s surgery, if that’s what we decide to do.”

I felt way better then!

Brad and Heather were the earliest risers this morning. While they pampered the dogs in the living room, I prepared the biggest breakfast possible. I made bacon, scrambled eggs and hash browns. There was cinnamon toast too. We sat at the table enjoying the kind of breakfast I rarely allow myself to enjoy. Jake and Kacey slept through it all. I knew they’d rather sleep than eat.

Besides, by the time Kacey finally greeted the day, I was already on my way to making the Mexican Chicken Corn Chowder she had requested. It was done cooking just in time for her to have some for lunch.

Too soon, it was time for everyone to go back to school again. That’s always the hardest part of a visit. But Dacotah going home meant Lucy would settle down for some much-needed rest. And Kacey returned to school, only for a week. Spring break is next week, so she’ll be home again soon.

I’d better make sure I get that refrigerator stocked up again!

Footwear Impaired

I notice people’s footwear.

When I’m walking from my parking ramp to the office, I look at feet. If people could hear the thoughts in my head, they’d hear judgments.

I LOVE those boots! Wonder where she got them!

I can’t believe someone would actually spend money on those shoes!

Dude, brown shoes do not go with a gray suit. Black shoes, dude! Black!

By the way, I realized today that I would never refer to someone as dude out loud. For some reason though, dude is a part of the vocabulary used in my internal dialogues.

Everyone has tall boots with low heels this year. Why don’t have tall boots with low heels? I need to shop more.

Those heels are ridiculous! Who would willingly spend eight plus hours in heels that high?

Considering my awareness of footwear, it’s no surprise that I have my fair share of pairs. I was going to go around the house and count them, but I just don’t feel like it. I can tell you, off the top of my head, that I’ve got four pair of fashion boots, three pair of athletic shoes, three pair of slippers, (some of which are actually worn outside of the house. I say if they have a rubber sole, they qualify as shoes.) There are several varieties of slip-on, slide-on type shoes, a few pair of heels and I won’t even try to count the flip-flop and sandal varieties.

You’d also think, considering my awareness of footwear, that I’d not make the mistake of breaking footwear fashion rules, such as wearing brown shoes with black pants or white socks with dark shoes….

…or wearing two different shoes to work. All day long. Without noticing. Without anyone noticing, or at least admitting to noticing, thank goodness. I’d have obsessed and died of embarrassment a thousand times over if I thought anyone had caught on to my blunder. I got all the way home and took them off, picked them up to put them in the front closet, and then… Hey, something’s not quite right here.

Yeah. I really did.

The one on the left is brown, though it’s such a dark brown it’s sometimes hard to tell it’s not black. Which is dangerous when someone is leaving the house in a hurry on a Monday morning and not paying real close attention to the subtle differences between brown boots and black boots. And yes, my pants are long and would have covered up the fact that the buckles are placed differently on the boots. But there’s a decorative seam on the front of the brown one that doesn’t exist on the black one. Good thing my feet sit under a desk for most of the day!

Brad is home

Brad came home from school Sunday night and along with him came Heather and Dacotah. Brad is home for the summer. Heather and Dacotah are just here until this afternoon when Heather needs to head back to North Dakota so she can be to work on time. I’m sure there will be many more visits from the two of them over the summer, though.

It’s so good having Brad home again. And Heather and Dacotah’s presence brings a calming effect, reminding me to enjoy these times with all of them. I love when Heather is here. We all seem to notice each other more and actually take the time to eat together, to have conversations and laugh. She’s such a great girl. Did I mention that she just graduated from college? Did I mention she got into grad school? Did I mention her tuition was waived and they’re paying her a stipend? Brad is one lucky boy to have her in his life. She’s smart, beautiful and sweet as can be.

Brad slept on the living room floor Sunday night so that Heather could have his bed. Dacotah chose to stay with Brad and when I tiptoed past the living room Monday morning as I was getting ready for work, she was all curled up on the living room chair. Now, she’s not allowed on furniture – not just my furniture, but any furniture. Those are Brad and Heather’s rules. But Dacotah just looked so cute and comfy there, and I am a big, sappy sucker, so I let her be. Later, when I passed by again on my way to the kitchen to grab some breakfast and lunch food to bring to work, I saw that Dacotah had vacated the chair and was curled up against Brad. His arm was wrapped around her. Her head was tucked under his chin. Her body was molded inside the curve of his. Lord, he loves that dog. And she loves him.

As I headed back to work yesterday morning, an unwelcome tense feeling returned and I wondered why I was letting a few unpleasant events of the past week keep dragging me down. I tried hard to shed the anxiety I was feeling, and eventually I did. I was pretty busy throughout the day and that helped a lot. I love to be busy and especially to feel challenged.  Once I remembered all the things I love about my job, those unpleasant things seemed to melt away. I ended up getting stuck in the office long after almost everyone else had gone home. (Our office is like the quarry where Fred Flintstone works. When the 5:00 whistle blows, look out. Mass exodus!) Anyway, I realized how much I loved working in the quiet, without a million questions and distractions all vying for my attention. I finally wrapped up what I was doing and headed out the door around 5:40.

There is road construction going on everywhere in Minnesota right now, and I do mean everywhere! Don’t plan on getting anywhere easily and don’t plan on getting there on time. Due to all this construction, I’ve been taking the side streets home and avoiding the freeway. For some stupid reason, I thought I’d take the freeway yesterday evening and “just zip on over” to the exit just beyond my normal exit where I knew there would be major delays due to construction.

Except there was no zipping. And there was a whole lot of being stopped at a dead standstill. I felt my frustration trying to return as my car creeped along until I could finally get off the freeway. It only took me forty minutes to get home, which is only twice as long as normal.

Thankfully, when I finally pulled into the driveway, there were Brad and Heather at the grill, cooking dinner. The table was set and all I had to do was sit down and enjoy a meal with (almost) the entire family (minus Jake, who was already gone to work). My frustrations were quickly forgotten. What a wonderful way to come home! My oldest boy is home and I am a happy mom!

Easter Sunday

Another four-day weekend – gone in the blink of an eye.

The kitchen is finally mostly put back together again. We still have to install the trim boards and crown molding. I waited all day Friday and much of Saturday to get my turn in there.  I had boxes waiting to be unpacked. I got a small start late Friday, but was sidelined by some friends who Mark had invited over to see.  I  got another chance late Saturday afternoon after doing a bunch of cooking with my sister for Easter brunch. I  started unpacking. I hadn’t gotten far when the next door neighbors popped in to have a look. I was patient while they visited and looked around and listened to Mark tell tales of his manly remodeling adventures. Finally, they left and I unleashed on Mark. I told him if he invited any more people over while I was trying to put my kitchen back together, there would be hell to pay. From there on out, he would periodically glance out the front window and announce, “Bill and Tammy are heading this way…” or “Here come Dave and Rita…”

I fell for it a few times and shouted at him, “You have GOT to be KIDDING me! NO MORE VISITORS!”

Then he would laugh, thinking he was SO funny. So he kept at it, but lost interest when I would just shout back at him, “Shut up!”

I went to bed Saturday night, exhausted but with my kitchen back in order. Sunday morning I was anxious to give my new oven a try. I preheated the oven for the brunch egg dish I had prepared. I timed it just right to make sure the food was done just in time to bring it over to my parents house for the family celebration. After allowing plenty of time for preheating, I opened the oven…and found it was not anywhere near 350 degrees. Not even close. My brand new oven DID NOT WORK! ARGH!

Thankfully, Mom and Dad live a block away, so I called over to their house and my mom answered the phone cheerfully. Unable to hide the pout in my voice, I said, “Mom? My oven doesn’t work!”

“Well bring it on over,” she said. “We’ll just cook it in my oven.”

Easter was saved.

We had a great time with the whole family and stuffed ourselves silly. The food was delicious and plentiful. My mom made sure the orange juice was pulp-free, because she knows how much I hate pulp in my orange juice. My brother and I were actually already planning Thanksgiving dinner.

Later on, we went over to Mark’s parents’ house where we had a great time with his family! I got my baby-fix kissing and chasing and hugging our one year-old nephew Ryan. We threw plastic eggs at each other all afternoon long and then I helped him find more plastic eggs in the egg hunt.

Family isn’t always fun, but today was good.

I've been arrested by the fashion police

She’s at it again. The coworker who is obsessed with her dream of doing a full makeover on me unleashed her opinions again today. (From here on out we shall refer to her as “K.”)

K really is a good person and she has a heart of gold. Sometimes it’s just hard to see past her verbal vomit. I have to keep reminding myself that underneath it all, she really means well. In between her occasional distasteful assessment of my attire are glimpses of the fact that she sees more in me than meets the eye. She has bigger dreams for me. She adores clothing and fashion and just wants me to step outside my box. She thinks my wardrobe consists of too many items of the same style and color and keeps telling me I would look good in latest trend found in one of her fashion magazines. But she’s simply one of those people who lacks a brain filter, which means that where most of us are able to recognize that certain thoughts in our heads should never be voiced, she is severely lacking any such ability.

All I wanted to do was get a postage stamp out of the supply room today. This meant walking past her desk to get there. I found my stamp and as I began to make my way back to my own desk, she stopped me to show me her new lip gloss.

Reaching toward me and offering me a small tube, she said, “Terri, hey! How do you like my new lip gloss? Look! It’s got Hello Kitty on it.”

I accepted the pink tube with the black top and surveyed it as requested. Sure enough, there was Hello Kitty right on the clear part of the tube which was filled with pink gloss. “Do they actually market this to the adult crowd,” I asked? I’m pretty sure that Hello Kitty is a line of toys and accessories for little girls.

“Well it is from Mac, so I would assume so.”

Another coworker, D, had inched her chair out of her cubicle and was listening to the conversation with interest. I glanced at D and she glanced back at me with raised eyebrows, while I said to K, “I don’t know what Mac is.”

K raised one side of her upper lip in mild disgust and said, “I am getting you out of here one of these days and taking you places! I can’t believe you’ve never heard of Mac!”

I resented the insinuation that I was nothing but pitiful white trash, but I bit my tongue, because I’ve got a fully functioning brain filter.

She paused, looking at me expectantly and emphatically asked, “It’s a line of cosmetics? You get it at Macy’s or Nordstrom’s? You’ve never heard of this?”

Now I was getting irritated with her condescending attitude and replied, “I order my make-up. I don’t shop the cosmetics counter at Macy’s or Nordstrom’s.”

At this point she was ready to give up on me and my hillbilly naivet’e. “Well, the next time you order make-up, tell your sales rep you want lip gloss with Hello Kitty on it.”

I resisted the urge to stress the fact that Hello Kitty is for little girls, not adult women. “Sure. Whatever,” I replied. “I just don’t wear a lot of lip gloss.”

At the same time K was haughtily replying, “I KNOW,” and rolling her eyes at me, D decided to come to my rescue and chimed in.

“Maybe you will when you’re closer to K’s age!”

I pointed at D, laughing with her and told her, “I owe you one!”

K was fully disgusted with the both of us and as she headed back toward her desk, tossed over her shoulder, “I should put you on What Not to Wear.

It’s not the first time she’s threatened me with that insult. It stings a little bit, I have to admit. Honest to God, it’s not like I’m dressed like a peasant. We have a casual work environment and I buy most of my clothes at Gap or Express. It’s not like I show up to work in pajama pants and sweatshirts (though I could probably get away with it if I really wanted.) I wear jeans or casual dress pants, sweaters and dress shoes. Give me a break!

The thing K doesn’t realize is that the more she pushes me to wear what she thinks I should wear, the more I’m going to resist. In fact, I may go to great lengths to push her buttons just because of her insistence that I change my style.

I’m weighing my options now. What do you think about this?


Or maybe this? (Got a little camouflage thing going here. It would put her over the edge!) There’s something in the corporate dress code about bare midriffs, so this cami is probably out of the question.


This may be my favorite.

I’m leaning heavily towards the t-shirt. What do you think? Cast your votes now.