My Husband’s Communication Skills Are an Epic Failure

A gal just needs to be comfortable. As we have travel through this first year of retirement, I have adopted comfort clothes: fluffy pajama pants and a t-shirt accompanied by my husband’s grey flannel jacket. It’s become the norm to wear the same attire more than one day because finding washing machines can be a challenge when on the road, and it's not like I am sweating profusely from activity.

However, there are those times I glam up a little by shedding the PJs for jeans but usually layer the flannel on top; it’s my go-to for warmth and somehow I have an image of myself as a cool-looking lady. In my mind, I look sexy wearing my man’s oversized shirt as I romp around the house. I imagine myself looking like the young girl pictured in the image above even though I am approaching 60.

Fashion is no longer a priority which is quite a change after working a job for 35 years where professional attire was expected. I love the new look that is easy, relaxing and fits my lifestyle. Observation tells me Americans are adopting more casual fashions, eliminating the need for flashy styles and expensive designs.

Yesterday, as I prepared for a big day out to get groceries, my wardrobe stepped it up a notch: black jeans coupled with a short-sleeve tan blouse with decorative cross straps on the back. Since the day was expected to be sunny but a slight breeze chilled the air, I asked Randy if he knew where the black flannel was. Somehow, I had misplaced it.

At first, Randy suggested I wear my light denim jacket pointing out it drapped over the passenger's seat. Not getting the hint, I expressed my desire for comfort and repeated my questions about the flannel’s whereabouts. The lined interior would keep me warm and cozy, just what was needed on a breezy day.

With a gloomy look, he blurted out, “You look like an old grandma when you wear that.” Quickly, he realized the error of his words so he started verbally back-peddling when he added, “But I will love you no matter what you wear.”

Without even thinking, I muttered, “I will never wear that ****ing flannel again.” Why hadn’t he told me this long ago? Suddenly, the image I held of myself morphed from the girl in the picture to the cartoon character, Maxine.

I was devastated. After 40 years of wedded bliss, I know a man often doesn’t think before speaking and have come to accept this fact. However, his words were not the problem, the fact that wrinkles and grey hair aged my appearance were not even that big of a deal because I look in a mirror every morning; however, realizing I would never wear that cozy flannel rocked my world. Anyone who knows me can attest, my stubbornness wouldn’t allow that piece of clothing to drape my body again.

But then I turned up my stubbornness a couple of notches on the dial, determined to haunt my husband’s existence by wearing the flannel daily. In fact, I planned to wear it to bed.

After pouting for a few moments, my emotions started to heal, and thoughts of divorce began to fade. My response must have alerted Randy to how wounded I felt so once he believed the threat of retaliation subsided, he gave me a hug and said, “Hon, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just when you wear the flannel and then tie your hair up in a ponytail, you really look old, like an old fashion grandma.”

That man never learns. Does he stop and listen to himself? Now I am trying to decide if I should throw away all my hair ties or wear a continual ponytail. Forgetting and forgiving have never been my strength. At this moment, I am thinking of shaving my head and wearing a flannel onesie, the kind lumberjacks wear with a flap in the back.

Yesterday's drive was quiet. The road seemed longer than usual and we had peanut butter sandwhiches for dinner. I love peanut butter! It makes me feel young.

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