Dressy-dress

He wishes I’d dress up more than I do.

He’d never asked her straight out because that would come to close to the possibility of conflict. Avoidance was easier.

But it’s in his posture as she comes to the door in jeans and what she would call a “nice” top. Fancy just isn’t important to her, nor was it something she’d put on when they first started dating. If anything, she’d gone out of her way to show her blue collar roots. Caveat emptor. But he refused to see them.

Anyway, my outfit probably cost more than his did if I throwing the shoes and the thong from Fredericks.

He, of course, is wearing what he always does on Fridays: gray wool slacks, patent black belt with brushed silver buckle, startling white dress shirt with oversized cuffs and the top button loose at the collar, gold silk tie with diagonal maroon stripes and loose at the neck to show the collar’s openness, tortoise-rimmed “nerdy financier” frames, and black leather, box-toed Frankenstein shoes. That was his casual at work and pretty close to what it was at home unless he was working out (from 6-7 each weeknight) or sleeping (from 10 pm to 6:45 am every night).

If he won’t say anything, neither will I.

Hitching up the straps of her underwear to just about the waistline of her low-rise pants, she pushed past him.