A few years ago, my mother gifted me with a beautiful, black suit.
The minute I tried it on in the fitting room, I loved it. It fit perfectly and made me look thinner which I always love.
After Mom purchased the suit, she hugged me and said, "Every pastor's wife needs a marryin' and buryin' suit." She would know since she had been one for 25 years.
I was quite touched by this and waited for the day when I would truly be a pastor's wife and wear my suit to the appropriate occasions.
Saturday was Doc's first funeral/memorial service. The evening before, I pulled out my suit from the back of the closet and tried it on.
I looked in the mirror and turned from side to side. I asked Doc, "Do you think I can get away with this?" I rely on his opinion which is totally unconventional among today's woman. I figure the man knows what looks good on me better than I do.
When I got the go-ahead from Doc, I was thrilled. I had packed on a few pounds after the last baby and was crossing my fingers. I really wanted to wear the suit my mom gave me especially for this.
The next morning, I put on the suit and decided to wear black hose with it. I pulled out the hose from the back of the drawer and pulled them on. One thing about me is, I hate to wear hose. I hardly ever wear them.
My boys kept looking at my feet and saying, "Mom, you have black feet." I have probably solidified in their minds that girls are weird. We do crazy things to ourselves, ladies. There was a hole in each foot, but I shrugged because I knew my shoes would cover that fact.
I tended to the boys' hair and while doing Sleepy's I noticed something peculiar about his pants, but couldn't quite figure out what was wrong.
After we were all slicked down and beautified, we got in the car for our two-hour trek to the church. The pastor of the church was there to greet us and I got out of the car to say hello. After I shook hands with the man, I turned to get the baby out of the car.
I realized at that moment, that my hose had rolled down to my thighs. Walking very carefully, I managed to get the kids inside the building without my hose falling down around my ankles. I made it to the bathroom in time to pull them back up, but throughout the day, I constantly had to make sure they were where they were supposed to be.
Every once in a while, I would get a look at Sleepy's pants and the wrongness would strike me, but I would just shake my head and shrug. I still couldn't figure out what was wrong about those pants.
When the reception was over and we were getting in the car, I turned to look at Sleepy again as he began to climb in. It struck me and I gasped. "Sleepy! Your pants are on backward!" The kid looked down at himself and said, "Oh."
I sighed with exasperation and told him to get in.
When we were almost home, I stopped to get gas. When I climbed back in the car, my skirt rode up my knee and that's when I noticed the giant, monstrous hole in my hose.
I could only console myself that my skirt was calf-length.
The minute I tried it on in the fitting room, I loved it. It fit perfectly and made me look thinner which I always love.
After Mom purchased the suit, she hugged me and said, "Every pastor's wife needs a marryin' and buryin' suit." She would know since she had been one for 25 years.
I was quite touched by this and waited for the day when I would truly be a pastor's wife and wear my suit to the appropriate occasions.
Saturday was Doc's first funeral/memorial service. The evening before, I pulled out my suit from the back of the closet and tried it on.
I looked in the mirror and turned from side to side. I asked Doc, "Do you think I can get away with this?" I rely on his opinion which is totally unconventional among today's woman. I figure the man knows what looks good on me better than I do.
When I got the go-ahead from Doc, I was thrilled. I had packed on a few pounds after the last baby and was crossing my fingers. I really wanted to wear the suit my mom gave me especially for this.
The next morning, I put on the suit and decided to wear black hose with it. I pulled out the hose from the back of the drawer and pulled them on. One thing about me is, I hate to wear hose. I hardly ever wear them.
My boys kept looking at my feet and saying, "Mom, you have black feet." I have probably solidified in their minds that girls are weird. We do crazy things to ourselves, ladies. There was a hole in each foot, but I shrugged because I knew my shoes would cover that fact.
I tended to the boys' hair and while doing Sleepy's I noticed something peculiar about his pants, but couldn't quite figure out what was wrong.
After we were all slicked down and beautified, we got in the car for our two-hour trek to the church. The pastor of the church was there to greet us and I got out of the car to say hello. After I shook hands with the man, I turned to get the baby out of the car.
I realized at that moment, that my hose had rolled down to my thighs. Walking very carefully, I managed to get the kids inside the building without my hose falling down around my ankles. I made it to the bathroom in time to pull them back up, but throughout the day, I constantly had to make sure they were where they were supposed to be.
Every once in a while, I would get a look at Sleepy's pants and the wrongness would strike me, but I would just shake my head and shrug. I still couldn't figure out what was wrong about those pants.
When the reception was over and we were getting in the car, I turned to look at Sleepy again as he began to climb in. It struck me and I gasped. "Sleepy! Your pants are on backward!" The kid looked down at himself and said, "Oh."
I sighed with exasperation and told him to get in.
When we were almost home, I stopped to get gas. When I climbed back in the car, my skirt rode up my knee and that's when I noticed the giant, monstrous hole in my hose.
I could only console myself that my skirt was calf-length.
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