Leaving men to organise, sometimes with disastrous results (see this week’s Friday Fictioneers post which inspired this one).
Now before my male followers get upset, Hubby is the organiser in this house. He is King of the Lists and I am glad of it. Money and budgets are my thing, but most everything else stops at his door and works out just fine (we may go through plans A to Z but hey, that’s life).
Anyway, this post is dedicated to the ex husband, who was OK, but sometimes got things very wrong.
He was on the firm’s Sports and Social committee and arranged a few of the company dos. One year, it was a disco dinner/dance and we dressed up………… as you do.
We looked a handsome couple, he in his wedding suit and I’d bought a new frock for the occasion, a full length blue chiffonny thing. I’d had my hair done too.
I thought we’d gone into the wrong room until he was greeted by name.
Everyone else, even the bosses, were dressed casually and we stuck out like a sore thumb.
Good job my dress wasn’t red as you wouldn’t have been able to see me at all because of my embarrassment. It didn’t help when I was stuck in a corner as he chatted with his seniors, not introducing me to anybody, so I joined him and introduced myself.
Ah. Could have been a mistake.
The following year, he arranged the firm’s do again, and this time I asked him to check what people were likely to wear, not wishing a repeat of the previous year.
He assured me everyone would be wearing casual dress, so we did too, smart trousers and a top for me, he in casual slacks and an open neck shirt.
Everyone else was in evening dress, furs and dripping diamonds. I just wanted to crawl into the nearest alcove and hide under the table.
I didn’t go the following year. Perhaps I should say I refused point blank. He did of course, but didn’t say very much when he got back. He resigned his position on the committee after that, and a year later we were separated and going through divorce.
Since then, I don’t like to ‘tart up’. Apart from the wedding last year and Mum’s funeral, I stick to jeans if I’m going anywhere. Once bitten and all that………………….
