Super Awesome Fashonista-In-Training Wife = 2, Husband = 0

Same dress, different story.

Last night Eric and I prepared to go to a restaurant for dinner. I was still wearing the dress from work, but had long ago kicked off my heels. I spied my brown boots, limp on the floor of our closet. They were begging to be worn.

I figured it was rainy and blah, plus only about 65-degrees. Also, as I mentioned, my legs were quite hairy, and the boots, which come half-way up my calves, would cover most of that business. (Yes, WERE. I shaved this morning.... apparently part of being married is making your husband happy and being girly to his manliness. Who knew? My husband happens to be a wereman and there is only room enough for one hairy Ciuca in our house. But that's a whole 'nother story...)

I slid into the boots and zipped them up. They're likely the most expensive shoes I've ever bought. But they were so worth it; I get compliments all the time. They have rubber soles and are great in the snow. Plus, they have these strappy pieces that wrap around. Really, they're just great.

Turns out, they're great with the dress too. The dress has a vintage-y look and the brown boots paired up nicely, I thought as I looked in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Eric, coming out of the bathroom, said, "You're wearing those boots?"

"Yes," I said. "It's a little chilly outside." I didn't want to admit that I'd thought I looked good.

"I never thought you'd think 75 was chilly," he said, smiling.

"It's actually 65. And anyway, these boots are comfy and they look good with the dress."

"Are you serious? They don't even come up to your knees! Whatever," he said.

He thought I was joking about looking good, but I let it go. Right before we left, he put on this smurf-blue shirt I hate and I begged him to change it. He wouldn't and his defense was that he didn't ask me to change the boots.

Point taken. I grabbed the brown purse which matched the brown boots and out the door we went.

While waiting for a table at the restaurant, a woman walked up to me. "Where'd you get those boots? I love them!"

"At a sale in Alexandria. It's only once a year though," I replied, feeling very exclusive and excited. "But thank you so much!"

Eric then said to her, jokingly, "I've just been giving her hell for those boots!"

When she left, I turned to him and smiled. "You see?? These boots are cool!" I pointed at my feet.

"Ok," he retreated. "Maybe I don't know anything about what looks good. That's your department."

Later, walking home after parking our car three blocks from our apartment building, a woman sitting with a group at an outdoor table yelled out, "I love your outfit!!"

I turned. Me? Was she? SHE WAS!

"Thank you!!"

Again, Eric told her how he'd been picking on me. I told her thank you once more.

"Do you know how big of a compliment that is? Women are rarely that nice to each other," I explained as we continued walking. "Seriously, Eric. For someone to yell that out must mean I've got it together on this one."

"Ok, ok," he said.

"No really, I mean..." I could have kept it up for hours. I was so happy.

So today I'm passing it on. The first woman I see with a rockin' outfit is getting a shout out (literally) from me.

It made my night for two reasons: I knew I looked good and Eric learned that I am actually always right.

About clothes.