The Red Dress

The Singing Butler
by Jack Vettriano

Last year's Christmas Party was incandescently awful.  Suffice it to say, the morning after,  I made up my mind that it was the last one I would be attending for quite some time...probably ever.  So when it was time to RSVP this year, I told Matt in no uncertain terms that I was not going.  He didn't argue with me.  He knew. 

So when I found out two weeks ago that he had RSVP'd for both of us I was lit. 

You did WHAT?!?

Now if you know me at all, you know that I don't make decisions like I did in my younger years.  I rarely ever decide about things.  I listen. So in the heat of it all, I was mad, but I wasn't completely sure I wasn't going, though I was being a bit more stubborn than usual.  I was giving Matt all sorts of qualifications.  And I can assure you, I was not nearly as reasonable as the Fairy Godmother.  After spewing out curfew criteria, alcohol limitations, unacceptable seating arrangements, and a host of foreboding obstacles, I topped my list of completely rational excuses with, "And I don't have a red dress. I'm not going if I can't find a red dress."  In B language, that means there is this part of me that has been feeling like I'm supposed to buy a red dress for some reason, but I don't know why.  So if God gives me the perfect red dress, then maybe I'm supposed to go to the party. (You can see why rational people often don't want to be my friend.)

Matt subsequently decided, (I'm pretty sure it mostly had to do with the first 3 qualifications), that it was perfectly reasonable that I stay home.  So it was settled. 

I don't know what internal movement began to unravel my resolve, but I'm pretty sure it started with this painting.  Not the real one, of course, which sold at auction for 1.3 million dollars, the highest price ever paid for a Scottish painting at auction according to Edward Winkleman.  Rather, the one I bought at my neighbor's yard sale last summer for $12.00.  It has been in my basement, out of sight out of mind, until last week.  I was cleaning, organizing, packing up stuff for Goodwill, and there it was. The sand a reflection of the setting sun, lighting the dance floor beneath their feet. The wind   blustering those around them.  The couple only aware of the dance. 

 I hung it in my dining room. 

So on Wednesday, I met Matt for a glass of Pinot Noir after taking Grace to rehearsal.  We talked about little nothings.  It was nice.  I headed home, he headed back to the office.  I texted him.

"I want you to buy me a red dress."

"So you'll go?" he replied.

"Only if you dance with me." I answered.

And of course he said, "Then I'm going to need more than one drink."

I still don't know if I'm going. There are some foreboding obstacles, like finding a babysitter at the last minute.  I'm still listening. 

But yesterday afternoon, I was emailing Matt about Grace's rehearsal schedule and he wrote me back and said, "By the way, during lunch I looked across the entire mall for a red dress...red isn't in, how about purple?"

I was stunned. I didn't mean I literally wanted him to buy me a dress...

"That was awfully sweet of you..."   

To which he replied, "After 17 years of marriage, I do what I'm told. I love you dearly."

I was thinking about it all, and suddenly I remembered the first time I wore a red dress.  It was 18 years ago.  Our Junior/Senior banquet at Cedarville College.  There was no dancing at that party. 

But you know what I remembered?  Matt bought me that dress.  That red dress. 

He had his first job out of college and I was still in school.

I saw the dress in the Macy's flier.  It had a low cut back and I remember how much Matt tried to find every excuse to put his hand on my back all night long.  (At Cedarville that was a big no no back then.) 

We've danced a lot since then.  Oh, not often on the dance floor. Neither of us are very good at that. 

But definitely on the sand.

Reminds me of this song...which I must add, is way better with just the piano.

Love you Matt.

B