Commodore's Ball:Preperation

So I found out last week that Steve signed us up to go to the Tacoma Yacht Club's Commodore's Ball! Hooray, a ball!! There will be fancy dresses & suits, dancing, drinks, and of course lots of yummy food. Today, after work, Steve and I decided to go on a shopping trip. Now, normally I am not one who enjoys shopping. But today was different. Why, you ask? Well, you see, Steve does not own a suit... He does not even *relish* owning a suit. So obviously, I was up for the entertainment that meant tagging along.

Before leaving, he went upstairs to shower (he owns a plumbing business. Trust me, you would have wanted him to shower too), groaning all the while. He got out & did his hair... glanced at me, and groaned some more. Then he groaned as we walked out to the car. Groaned again as he started the ignition. Mumbled "I hate suits" as he pulled into the road. Groaned a few more times in between stop lights and glancing my way. I had a huge grin on my face the whole time.

"Stop grinning at me. Grrr...."

We got to the store, and were immediately overwhelmed by all the choices. This of course was the perfect opportunity for the ultimate of groans. A nice old man with a crooked back came up from behind us and asked if we needed any assistance. By the way Steve opened his mouth, I could tell he was going to say no and brave this sea of suits alone, so I blurted out "YEAH! There are so many; we could sure use your advice! Where do we begin?" to which he genuinely smiled and immediately wrapped his measuring ribbon around Steve's waist. Poor Steve didn't have a chance. So he just helplessly went with it, arms raised. His face was priceless. This was what I came here for. That look.

The little old man lead us around to various options & accessories, and finally after much deliberation over color, stripes or no stripes, and ties vs. bows vs. nothing at all, (All of this involved some sardonic comment about how he hates my lavender dress, how purple is stupid & I am gay -gay is Steve-speak for anything he doesn't like, which ironically does not involve gay people at all. We have quite a few gay friends who love him despite his crude and somewhat limited vocabulary- Oh yeah, and once again -HE HATES SUITS- and balls are dumb. So are cumber-buns, and why does he have to wear it? This shirt is too thin.)... oh yes, where was I? So finally we all 3 decided on a lovely neutral black and white number that should last him for years to come, provided he doesn't gain any more weight or get drunk and tear the damn thing. The the price was over half-off the normal retail price. Way to go Steve!!!

"Suits are stupid." He mumbled as we approached the checkout. The guy at the register asked if the suit was for our wedding. We both laughed [yeah right], and told him it was for the Commodore's Ball. He assured us he would be one of the sharpest dressed fellas there. Good to know. Upon heading to the car, Steve made yet another comment about why on earth would I ever buy a dumb purple dress, and why can't I wear my little black strapless number. I explained that THAT dress is a cocktail dress, meant to be worn for things like theaters & musicals, classy nights on the town, and well.. cocktails! Not formal-affair balls. "You need a ball-gown length dress for those, dear."
"But the old women don't wear floor length gowns."
"Yes, but they compensate with lots and lots of sequins, helmet hair, and nurse shoes. They're old; they're allowed."
"But I really LIKE your black dress..."
"I know, dear."
"Does it have to be purple?"
"Lavender."
"Whatever.. gay bright purple.. can't you wear something else?"

We'll see. I guess if he can go all through that trouble just to look uncomfortably spiffy for lil ole me at an old fart's boat ball, I suppose I can look for something that ain't purple. If I have to. I guess.