The Jacket: an epiphany

About a year ago, I bought several clothing items on major clearance. A sweater that is too tight, a mauve turtle-y-neck thingy, a fun and snazzy black skirt, and

The Jacket. (Plus two pairs of shoes, but we won't mention those for now.)

It's a dark denim with brown buttons, and I loved it as soon as I saw it. I put it on and I still loved it. The medium fit me well. It was way cheap.

I brought my findings home and showed the husband. He seemed most enthusiastic about the skirt, but I'm not sure how I am daring to call any part of his reaction to my new clothes "enthusiastic."

In the next few weeks, I repeatedly tried to wear my new jacket. I managed once, I think. But every time I put it on, Jeremy would say he didn't think it went well with the jeans or that the neckline of the shirt underneath the jacket looked a bit weird with it. Or something like that. The winter passed and I packed this dear little bargain-rack find into a box to stay in the basement during the summer months.

And just a few weeks ago, I pulled my winter things out and found The Jacket again. The weather this particular Sunday morning was cool, and I thought this was my chance to begin wearing The Jacket again. I tried it on and went to ask the husband if I looked alright.

"Something about the outfit doesn't go. Maybe it's that shirt with that jacket."
"Should I try something else?"
"Yeah," was his response.

I think I tried a dozen different combinations. Anytime my reformulated outfit included The Jacket, he wasn't sure about it. Any outfit that didn't include it was acceptable, no matter how tacky, fat, frumpy, out of style, or monochromatic I felt.

As we drove to church that afternoon, me wearing a brown corduroy jacket mind you, it came to me. My epiphany.

He doesn't like The Jacket. He doesn't like it. My jacket + my husband = No love.

This was really something, ok? Before I had this realization, I'd been feeling all poopy. You know, I have nothing to wear. I look dumpy. Why can't I just look cute like everyone else?

But after the realization, I felt lighter and more normal. More acceptable. There was, in a manner of speaking, something wrong with The Jacket, not something wrong with me. And I thought about it for a while. I knew instantly that this newly clarified fact meant something, and that it didn't mean I would stop liking my jacket. But I did consider how much it might matter to me if I put The Jacket on one day and went out with him and KNEW he didn't like it.

Really, how much importance was I attaching to how I looked in what I was wearing? Too too much. Way, way too much.

And here's another thing. It's a jacket. I'm still going to wear it. He doesn't care. I can wear a lot of things he doesn't like and it's not going to change anything between us. But also, IF it bugged him that I wore it, I wouldn't wear it. That's right, I'd sacrifice something that I really like for him. Some people might say that's how women lose themselves in marriage, but I disagree. If I choose this reaction, I don't lose. I'd rather be happy than have a cute jacket.

A famous clothing designer has been quoted saying "Over the years I have learned that what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it." Amen and hallelujah, right? Well, I can rejoice at the sentiment, but apparently I haven't quite learned it yet.