Let me preface this post by iterating just how much I adore and respect my husband.
Okay, now that that is clear, Steve did something last week that almost made me choke on my food.
He bought a pair of these:
Vibram Five Finger Shoes. Have you seen these? They promise to give the wearer a “barefoot experience,” minus the shards of glass or dog poop one might step on. The basic idea is that one gets to wear shoes without really wearing shoes. I have absolutely no problem with the philosophy and potential benefits of barefoot running. All that sounds fine to me. What I do have a problem with is that these shoes look completely and utterly RIDICULOUS.
They simultaneously remind me of gloves, scuba diving gear, and condoms. Condoms worn on feet. Gross. Just looking at them weirds me out. When people actually wear them, echkk.
For the first time in our marriage, I pulled veto power, and created a rule for my husband: under no circumstances is Steve allowed to wear these while we are together in public.
So far, he has been a trooper, and worn these when I’m not around. Let’s hope for the sake of our marriage (and fashion) that continues.
Ever since we got married, Steve and I have had an ongoing debate over whether or not to do the Santa thing with our children.
Santa Claus was a huge tradition in Steve’s childhood. Santa made yearly visits to the big family Christmas gathering (while some uncle or another mysteriously disappeared for the duration of the visit). He has wonderful memories of Santa, and wants to continue the tradition with our children.
I, however, have mixed thoughts on Santa. When I was about seven, I began to wonder about the feasibility of Santa Claus. How did one fat, bearded man with a large sack of toys manage to fit through people’s chimneys to give gifts to every child in the world in one single night? “Is Santa real?” I asked my parents suspiciously. “Of course, he is!” was the answer I received. I suppose they were trying to keep the magic alive for me, at least for a little while longer. By the next year, I was sure of the truth, and quite disillusioned by the realization that grownups lie to children. Embittered, I spread the bad news to my younger siblings and cousins. Out of that experience, I feel a bit hesitant about spinning the Santa tale for our trusting kids.
That brings us to now, Christmas of 2011. Steve already owns a Santa suit, and is very excited to dress up as jolly Saint Nick for our 2-year-old son. We agreed on a compromise: we will give our child the Santa experience, but whenever he questions the truth about Santa, we will come clean. At some point, he will understand reality from make-believe. Until then, our family will enjoy the fun of setting cookies and milk out on Christmas Eve, and anticipating a visit from Santa Claus.