It's been a week since the bedjacket incident, and I think I'm ready to talk about it. At last weekend's estate sale, I bought a vintage bedjacket. I thought it was sweet, in a sort of brushed-nylon, kitschy kind of way. I washed it, put it on last Monday night, and before I tell you what Mr. Oodles said about it, let me explain a few things.
One is that Mr. Oodles is known far and wide as a kind and patient person. Instead of taking an immediate dislike to unpleasant people (which is, in my opinion, the sensible thing to do), Mr. Oodles sets out to win them over. Which he always does. On one occasion, Mr. Oodles was so patient during an inconvenient detour and traffic backup that a parking lot attendant asked him if he were a pastor, since he was the only person to show any patience or consideration that day. (For the record, Mr. Oodles is not a pastor. Those of you familiar with his pattern of church attendance can stop snickering now.) Mr. Oodles also has shown infinite patience with his family and has been pretty much completely supportive of every scheme I have hatched, including the time, many years ago, when I briefly considered a career in plumbing. (Mr. Oodles - actually, he wasn't Mr. Oodles yet, but Beau Oodles - wisely pointed out some of the less appealing aspects of the plumbing trade, and that was the end of that.)
All of this is to say that when Mr. Oodles says anything the least bit negative, it is taken very seriously. This is the advantage of being negative once every ten or twelve years, as opposed to once every ten or twelve minutes. Here is what Mr. Oodles said about the bedjacket.
"Sweetheart," he said. "What is that thing you're wearing? I hate it. It makes you look like an old lady."
I think we just all need to pause here for a few moments. I know I do.
Even if I were inclined to discount Mr. Oodles' opinion, I was still faced with the prospect of looking, at least in the eyes of my beloved, like an old lady. It's not as if he said something mean, like "That dress makes you look fat." It's not as if he said something controlling and creepy. It's not, in fact, as if he's ever commented on anything I've worn except to say something nice.
And so, I'm giving away the bedjacket.
It's been washed again, for probably only the second time ever, because I don't think it was ever worn. (And worn by me for less than 30 minutes.) A bedjacket tends to be fairly forgiving fit-wise, but this is cut rather narrowly across the shoulder, so if you have shoulders wider than, say, a size 12, this may not be the bedjacket for you. I'll send it anywhere, so if you're in a faraway land, go right ahead and enter. I'd be just as happy if we could keep this particular event open to people who regularly visit, so don't feel any special need to spread the word. (And if you're a regular visitor who hasn't commented before, please enter. Don't apologize for lurking. There's nothing wrong with it.)
If you've ever dreamed of dressing yourself in brushed nylon and looking like an old lady - this is your lucky day. Actually, maybe Thursday will be your lucky day, because that's when I'll pick a winner. So enter, say, before midnight Wednesday. Just leave a comment on this post. And please don't say anything bad about Mr. Oodles. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be getting anywhere close to this lovely garment.
