Mary's Mom over at Mom's House Book inspired me with a confession she made recently about wearing a certain article of clothing of which her family is not fond.
Her story reminded me of an old T-shirt I had that Rob hated PASSIONATELY. First I have to say, he's not a clothes snob or picky about the stuff I wear in any way. I'm sure there are many cases where he hates what I wear but doesn't say anything. (I'm just about the worst dressed person EVER.) He's a great sport.
However, I had this awesome and amazing tie-dyed T-shirt that I got when I was in San Francisco. Berkeley, actually, from a street vendor. I was madly, passionately in love with that T-shirt. It was comfortable, but beyond that it was more a representation of something that was important to me. When I looked at it, wore it, I was reminded of the creative spirit, the freedom of expression, the hippie culture of the area where I bought the shirt. It wasn't a T-shirt, it was a symbol that had a life of its own beyond the weave of the fabric.
Unfortunately, it was hideously ugly on me and Rob couldn't stand it. In fact, he'd remark hesitantly at first that he didn't think it was very flattering. I conceded the fact that that might be true and pretty much stopped wearing it outside the house. I then used it as my "bum around the house" shirt. After a while the constructive criticism became more blunt observations about the shirt. Then there was actual terroristic threatening toward the shirt in which a plan was unveiled that involved making the shirt "disappear". I've seen enough action adventure movies to know what that means.
Finally, I could see that my beloved t-shirt was in grave peril, so I did what I had to do...
I cut up the shirt and made it into a quilt for our first baby thereby endowing it with the special, magical "baby's first blanket" power that is so strong it can never be destroyed.
I think they call that compromise, although probably my husband called it something else.