Now that it is after Labor Day and the end of summer — and happiness as we know it — it is traditionally the end of something that I thoroughly enjoy — the end of wearing white pants. As much as I love white pants, I think it is safe to say that Wilson may love them even more. On me, not him. He refers to the time between Easter and Labor Day as White Pants Season, and looks forward to this time of year more than Christmas.
Let’s rewind almost two years. It was my 25th birthday and Wilson and I were hosting my parents, sister, brother-in-law, and my niece, EG for a little birthday cookout at our house. This was pre-niece #2. The Tar Heels were playing Duke in football and losing. Womp. As a
obnoxious diehard Heels fan, Wilson was not taking this loss lightly. And, to make matters worse, my brother-in-law is a Duke fan, for reasons we don’t quite understand because he is really a lovely person and not a devil at all. Between the dwindling Heels score, the copious amounts of bourbon drinking, and my brother-in-law cheering for Duke, Wilson was having a really bad time.
Fuzzy cell phone picture, but this is my bestie Ashton and me with our respective men this past weekend. And, I’m wearing white pants.
So he kicked the bourbon drinking into high gear. He was practically bathing in it.
By the time dinner rolled around, Wilson was rosy-cheeked and talking at three decibels above everyone else. Not minding his
drunkeness jolliness as it was my birthday, I simply toasted him with my red wine and ate my dinner. I’m not one to judge. After dinner we had birthday pie — I’m a pie person — and then I opened my presents.
I unwrapped my gift from my parents, which was a pair of winter white corduroys. Before I could get out the customary Thank you! I love them! Wilson beat me to the punch.
“WHITE PANTS!” he screamed, his eyes opening wide and his cheeks flushed an uncanny hue of purple. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!”
There are very few moments when I have been the gut-wrenching, cheek-burning, wanting-to-seep-through-the-cracks-in-the-floor kind of embarrassed, but this was undoubtedly one of those times. My brother-in-law and sister burst into deep belly laughs and my parents chuckled and looked at Wilson in surprise. They’d never seen him quite so candid about my looks, thankfully.
“Look at Annie’s cheeks!” my brother-in-law laughed, and I knew the color of my cheeks were probably a deeper purple than Wilson’s.
I tried to join in the laughter but what I really wanted to do was pinch Wilson’s arm — he hates that — and tell him to have some freaking discretion. Goodness. Ever the Wilson-fan, my dad nudged me in the arm and said, “Stop being such a prude.”
My brother-in-law still claims he’s never laughed so hard in his life.
Having explained Wilson’s love for white pants, this is partially the reason why I am no longer abiding by the no-white-pants-after-Labor-Day rule. If it makes Wilson this happy — and they really do, lawd — then it’s worth breaking an, in my mind, archaic fashion faux-pas. The other reason why I’m wearing white pants year-round now is because they will look so good with so many fall/winter things — think how cute they’ll be tucked into boots, paired with a light gray sweater, matched with a black turtleneck? The options are endless.
And they make Wilson really, really, happy. Oy.
So, who’s with me?