Love & the Puffy Coat

Some women get flowers and candy from their significant others.

Not me.

I get puffy sportswear.

Allow me to explain.

Yesterday, Brett had to drive to Dundee, Illinois, to transfer the rest of the funds for my new/old car. On his way back, he stopped at one of HIS favorite clothing stores – Steve and Barry’s – located in the Spring Hill Mall.

The reason Brett loves Steve and Barry’s is because nothing – nothing – is more than $12.95. This confirms Brett’s theory that all clothing should cost less than $15. It also gives him ammunition when I want to buy clothing that is more than that amount.

The first time I bought a brand name bra, Brett almost had a coronary. “$35 for one bra? Is it a Super-Bra? What’s it made out of? Kevlar?”

“Yes, I bought a Kevlar bra. Now is the time to tell you I secretly fight crime in my underwear when I tell you I have a late night meeting.”

I have told Brett time and time again that when it comes to clothing, quality clothing, you get what you pay for. Clothes shopping done right is an investment.

Brett still thinks all underwear comes in a five pack at Wal-Mart for $3.99. I’ve tried to explain to him that my underwear, a complex mix of spandex and lycra, will last me a lot longer than his cotton Spiderman underoos.

Not that he wears Spiderman underoos. I’m talking quality level.

Anyway, back to Steve and Barry’s, Brett brought a few things back for me.

Two t-shirts, one with a GIANT ARMY symbol and one with a GIANT NAVY symbol. Both were conveniently his size, you know, just in case, for some reason, I might not want them.

I held the shirts up and tried to figure out what to say. “Honey, didn’t we talk about you buying clothes for me?”

We have had this conversation exactly three times. It finally came to a point where I told Brett he should never buy clothes for me. Never. Ever.

Why? Well, let’s start with a sample of a few things he has bought me over the years - a sparkly crocheted pink sweater vest, a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt, and a Size 6 lingerie outfit.

Can you see me EVER wearing either a pink sweater vest or a Disney-themed sweatshirt? Not since 1990.

As for the Size 6 business, I’ve NEVER been a Size 6. In fact, I’m pretty sure even my teeth aren’t a Size 6.

And nothing was more embarrassing than returning THAT. The salesperson looked at me like, “Did you REALLY think you were a Size 6? Is somebody suffering from ocular degeneration? Or dementia?”

“No, my husband’s just a really, really bad shopper.”

So, here we go again. I now own two oversize shirts that support the ARMY and the NAVY. You know, because that is so me.

Ah, but the trouble wasn’t over.

He held up not one, but two, gigantic puffy coats emblazoned with Michigan (Michigan?) Wolverines logos.

There are so many reasons this coat is not something I would ever wear/pick out/even stand remotely close to in a store.

First of all, it’s a pimp coat. This is something rappers wear in music videos (dear Lord, please tell me he didn’t buy me a mouth grill). Secondly, I hate professional sports. Thirdly, it’s so puffy, I look like I’m trying to smuggle illegal immigrants in my coat.

And lastly, Michigan? Where does he think we live?

But perhaps the fashion mistake that pains me most is the fact he bought MATCHING coats.

Yes, we are now going to look like one of THOSE annoying sports-oriented couples who DRESS ALIKE.

Kill me now. Please.

But, my dear husband was so excited for me to try on this horrendous coat. So I bundled up into it and zipped it up.

“You look great,” he fawned. He put his matching coat on and gave me a great big puffy hug.

It was as corny as it sounds.

So, because my husband has shown me his love, by purchasing um…sportswear, I will wear it proudly.

Unless...

Unless one of you can help me. If I wear my coat on Sunday, during the breakfast hour, could someone please, please manage to spill coffee on it “accidentally”?

Believe me, Puffy Coat has enough layers, I will be protected from any burn.

Take pity on me. I beg you.

In my heart, I find his gesture kind of sweet. He does love me and try to protect me, the best way he can.

I suppose I should just rest in that and just be happy the coat wasn’t a size 6.