I tell you what...this marriage gig is hard work. Between arguing over holidays to having shouting matches over the Sweatpants of Depression, I am plumb worn out.
On Saturday The Dude wanted to go out and run some errands. As I cannot be bothered to get up before 10.30am on the weekends, I took my sweet time (ie 1 1/2 hours) to get from being huddled under my duvet with my 4 fluffy pillows to putting one leg, then another into THE sweatpants. I wasn't really depressed, just a bit down. Initially, I did not put them on as representative of any malaise, so when they were first put on we shall call them the Sweatpants of Apathy. Just so you know, these are not dingy, grey, $10 Wal-Mart sweatpants, these beauts are lovely sky blue Nike yoga-ey pants with flared bottoms. These aren't your mother's Sweatpants of Depression darlin'.
Upon exiting the bedroom, quite proud of myself for emerging from my typical Saturday outfit of The Dude's pyjama bottoms and 10 year old t-shirt with holes, he says to me, "You're not wearing that out, are you?" You know, because shopping for cushions to go on the new sofa requires a ballgown and friggin' tiara. I asked him what was wrong with them and his words were, "Umm...but they are sweatpants...and you'll probably be wearing them all weekend. It looks a bit sloppy." Huh? Uh, did he just...I think he did. I asked him why wearing them all weekend would make them unwearable at that moment since they were fresh out of the dryer, to which he had no answer. Clearly this boy has some lessons to learn. When a woman wants to wear the Sweatpants of Apathy/Depression, you don't tell her she looks like shit you say, "Darling, wear whatever you want. You're beautiful regardless of what graces your body."
The way I look at it, he was lucky I even wanted to leave the flat in the first place. Granted, after his anti-Sweatpants of Apathy tirade, I decided to stay in. The Sweatpants of Apathy gave way to the Sweatpants of Depression and I wore them with pride, though rather morose pride. I lounged all day watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition, crying, eating half a tub of Ben and Jerry's and shouted at The Dude to get out of the house because he was pissing me off...but hey....This is what I'm made of. To think this is me without drugs. Ha! I can tell you one thing. Once IVF starts and I'm even more of a raging bitch, I will be able to rock those sweatpants like nobody's business for days on end. I'm thinking marathons of Pimp My Ride, constant viewing of the melodrama on tap that is found on the Hallmark Channel, and the consumption of rather a lot of junk food. Ahh...it almost makes one want to put the sweatpants on now...