Tears Are NOT a Substitute For Spray Starch

So, we were on our way to Brunswick! Scott would be sitting in on the interviews for his replacement and I would be taking a little look see at the place we'll be calling home in four short months.

Things were actually going very well. I had carefully orchestrated every aspect of packing, even laying out various shirts and cargo shorts that I know are Scott's favourites, to help him decide what to take with a minimum of fuss and muss. The only things I did not worry about were Scott's dopp kit (he keeps it hidden somewhere that I can never find) and his suit things for the interviews (he knows best how he wants to present himself and I'm never able to guess what suit and tie he'll want on any given occasion.) We had pretty weather for the drive --- lots of sun, not too hot --- and the traffic was light.

As we neared Statesboro, Scott suddenly announced that he needed to take a turn around the city and find a department store, having just realized that he'd forgotten to bring a tie. We laughed in relief as we found a Goody's and a JC Penney's within walking distance of one another --- we'd be sure to find something he'd like, and thank goodness he'd realized in time for us to actually stop and buy a replacement!

Oh ho, we chortled, flapping the tongue of the tie at each other, standing in the checkout line. Rascally tie, it won't get the better of us, we chuckled as we continued our drive to Brunswick. Tie! we exclaimed gleefully during dinner, knowing that for once we had our shit one-hundred-percent together, no surprises here, no sireebob!

Scott was in a fine mood the next morning, preparing to meet his boss for breakfast before leaving for the interviews. He winked at me in the bathroom mirror, waving the recalcitrant tie at me with a little kiss. This would certainly be a Good Day. I smiled sleepily then rolled over for another couple hours of blissful, luxury hotel rest.

Then I heard a gasp.

Then muttered curses.

Then a sob.

Sitting bolt upright, I thought to myself, That idiot forgot his socks, I just know it!

"Sweetheart, what is it, what's the matter?" I called to my husband, who by now was struggling for breath. "Did you forget your socks? Do I need to run out somewhere while you're at breakfast and buy you some socks??" Thinking to myself, Where the hell am I going to buy socks at seven in the morning?? And a lot of other mean things, besides.

"I...I...I don't want to talk about it. Just leave me alone!" came the strangled reply.

Now, in the history of the world, this response has never been met by any wife with less than all-consuming curiosity. Now I MUST know, at ANY cost. "Tell me right now what is going on, did you forget your damned socks again?"

"No.....MY PANTS!"

Oh, yes, we were really on top of that TIE, thank God, and the SOCKS; THOSE were covered. The easiest things in the world to physically remove from a waiter or bellboy, sure, THOSE we had. 36 inch inseam dress trousers, though....that was going to be a problem, even for someone with my ingenuity and unscrupulous cunning.

As soon as I could catch my breath, from my immediate and prolonged laughter at my husband's expense, I asked him if he'd brought any khaki trousers. We were, after all, on our way to a Disney vacation, so his outfits were heavy on the cargo short side, but hopefully at least one pair of trousers had made the cut, just in case of dinner at a nice restaurant or a sudden whim to attend church.

And thank god! He had packed ONE pair, his most favourite pair, which I had JUST rescued from an assault from movie-popcorn butter with extreme intervention via stain remover. The day was saved! He wouldn't be in a full suit, but he could --- just maybe --- pull off a casual, sport coat effect, with the new tie serving to anchor the khaki trousers to the gunmetal grey suit jacket. Hurrah!

Working quickly, he started warming the iron and setting up the ironing board. He threw the pants onto the board, then began ironing as if his life depended upon it.

"Hey," he growled, "there are bleach stains ALL OVER these pants! What have you done to my pants??"

"Nothing! I just...used some stain remover..." Could I have used that stain remover a little over-zealously?? Could it really have left those bleachy stains ALL OVER those damned pants?? I only used it on the front, where the butter......

"Hey!" Scott glared at me accusingly. "I thought you said you got the stain out of these?!"

"OF COURSE I DID!" But he was right; the heat of the iron had, somehow, brought the stain out with a vengeance. My husband collapsed, limply, over the iron. Only his muffled cries assured me that, still, he lived.

Of course, life goes on, even if you are an unfortunate law clerk with no kind of housekeeper for a wife. He put on his stained, bleached trousers and marched out the door to meet with his very particular boss --- who is a bit of a dandy and truly believes that clothes make the man --- several Ivy League candidates, and his own Fate.

"So, how did it go?" I asked when I picked him up that afternoon.

"Oh, it was fine. The Judge was wearing a sport coat and khakis. So, where do you want to have lunch?"

And that, friends, was the end of that. But only the beginning of a very strange trip, indeed...