“No, I don’t!” I defended.
“Yes, you do.”
“These shorts are cute,” I explained.
“They look like a diaper,” he continued.
“Ed, they’re supposed to be loose. They’re designed to look relaxed,” I tutored.
“… and to look like a diaper,” he concluded.
Displeased with the direction in which our conversation was going, I distracted myself with whatever it was I was doing at the time, focusing on the task as though it was of critical importance.
But, in truth, I was looking out the corner of my eye, waiting for Ed to walk away so I could hustle into the bedroom and check out my butt’s reflection in the mirrored closet door.
A few seconds later, Ed returned to the garage.
When the coast was clear, I made my move, tripping over my own feet in the process.
As I stumbled into the room and positioned myself in front of the mirror, I realized that my husband was right. These shorts, which I’d thought were so cute just a few moments earlier, looked like … not only a diaper, but a … a saggy diaper!
I adjusted some straps and tugged on the legs.
I patted my booty, thinking the gesture might remove the little “poof” that persisted.
If anything, the puffiness seemed to grow.
I refused to change clothes, knowing that Ed would take excessive pleasure in the fact that he was right.
Instead, I did everything possible to “de-diaper” the appearance of the little, white shorts, but nothing worked.
“It’s not that bad,” I finally reasoned, fetching my purse and walking out to the garage, where Ed was keeping himself busy before we went to a movie.
“Ready to go to the show?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, grinning as his eyes focused on my diaper bulge.
“Stop looking at it,” I demanded.
“At what?” he asked, in a perfected, faux innocent voice.
“Seriously!” I said, hopping in the car.
A Theater with a Thousand Eyes
When we arrived at the theater, I felt like all eyes were on my saggy bottom (and poofy front). Standing in line at the snack bar, I’d swear I could hear the cruel snickering of other guests.
Once in the safety of the darkened auditorium, I was consumed with relief.
“Whew,” I though, “I made it!”
Nothing but smooth sailing from here.
I failed to recall that every movie must, eventually, come to an end.
Willing to Stand Out in a Crowd … Or Am I?
“Wanna grab some dinner?” Ed invited, after the film concluded.
Well, of course I wanted dinner! Hellooo! Not cook? Eat a delicious meal? Anybody who knows me could tell you that I’d be game.
But … more public appearances? Hmm. That required some deliberation.
“Okay,” I finally answered, concluding that I’d be sitting most of the time anyway.
I’d done it again. Made it through dinner and back to the car without so much as a thought about the whispers that must certainly be surrounding me!
I’d proven to my husband that I was my own woman! If I wanted to wear diaper shorts out in public, well … by-golly, I would!
As soon as I returned home from our lovely date, I pretended … I mean, I decided that a bath was in order.
“Sure was hot out there!” I exclaimed. “I’m gonna take a bath … wash the sweat off my body.”
“You were in an air-conditioned theater,” Ed reminded.
But, I pretended not to hear as I skipped away.
They’re Part of the Family Now
That was a few years ago. I still have those diaper shorts.
Today, I pulled them out again and stuck them on.
Then, out of curiosity, I took a picture.
The photograph screamed, “Diaper Shorts!”
I had to ask myself why I’d decided to keep them. More precisely, why was it so important that I should convince everybody, whose eyes landed upon these ugly, white, somewhat see-through, hand-me-down shorts, that they did NOT look like a diaper?
As I write this article (wearing my diaper shorts), I’m still undecided about why I refuse to give them up.
Do I keep them to prove that the opinions of others do not sway my own ideas?
“If I like them, I’m keeping them,” my mind’s voice whispers. “Don’t cave under peer pressure.”
Am I keeping them out of pride?
“There is no way … NO WAY … I’m letting Ed know that he was right about something. AGAIN!”
If I’m being honest, Ed does tend to be right more often than not. Certainly more often than I am.
Yes, I really just put that in writing (I’d like to believe I’ve humbled myself over the years).
But, I’m still keeping my diaper shorts!
Not because they’re cute (although, in a strange way, they are).
Not because I want to please others over petty opinions (I do care what others think, but not about my shorts).
And not because I want to prove Ed wrong (it happens so rarely, I don’t know that I’d realize if it actually occurred).
I’m keeping my diaper shorts, simply because … they make me smile.
Looking back, I’m amazed that, as recently as two years ago, I could still be as prideful and stubborn as I was at age seventeen (over something as trivial as shorts). I had something to prove and nobody was going to stop me, not even my own common sense.
These days, I focus more on things that matter. If I have a point to make, I try to make it something worthwhile.
It’s incredible how much God can grow us in such a short time. My husband says I’m a bit easier to get along with in recent years; more humble and less “sassy”. I have to admit, it feels pretty good to know that my diaper shorts are now simply a comfortable pair of “hang around the house” clothes. They don’t carry with them a lesson or an “in your face” message but, instead, trigger a memory … a memory of the day when they were first introduced into my marriage, unknowingly creating an unspoken conflict between a style-conscious husband and his thick-headed wife.
I’m sure I’m not the only person who has stood her ground over something that, in hindsight, was absolutely meaningless. I can’t be!
… Or can I?