PlasticBottru
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14/12/2017
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 23:23:17 +0000 UTC14/12/2017
My heart is still pounding, oh my goodness. An occasion came sooner than I expected. A surprisingly suitable one. Barbara wanted to hold a Christmas party. It may appear that it’s a little late to be holding one, but Barbara. Barbara’s gatherings are the kind of thing you make time for, even if you don’t have any. There’s nothing more that lady loves than a party. Barbara’s events also have this unspoken rule when it came to dress codes. Gorgeous, tasteful, elegant. Louis’ gown would have its stage. I even went to get my hair done. Plaited and parted and pulled up. I was excited. I would admit that much, I was. I was also uncharacteristically nervous, so I had a little bit of whiskey, just to calm my nerves. You see, I had not realized how critical I had become when it came to dressing. Dressing for the corporate world, that is. This fine line between looking good and looking too good. Putting everything into a too-small box. Scrutinizing the language of clothing, but not in it’s entirety, no. Only looking for certain things a tailored suit or polished shoe would say. Not too much. Just enough. Clean, a subtle air of luxury in a watch, but otherwise…tastefully understated. I had become adept at that language, yes, but it is not a native tongue to me. I love it when things are “too much”. Too much for everyone else but myself. Patterns and cuts that would have anyone else shocked, but not me, because I can wear them. Turn their eccentricity into beauty in a way only I could.
Beauty. Beauty! That is what I liked most, but now I was afraid of it. Afraid that the language that Louis’ dress would be too harsh. Silly. Absolutely ridiculous. So much for the overflowing confidence in the previous entry I suppose.
He came home as I was buttoning up the dress, and for a split second, I felt quite terrified. Like a child caught doing something they should not be doing. He looked at me, and I looked at him. He had no words, jaw hanging like he was trying to say something, but simply could not. So I did. I gathered the silk skirt that flowed almost like water into my hands and turned a little jokingly. Asked him if he thought the dress was pretty, praying with my thumping heart that he focused on the “pretty” and not the “dress”. He didn’t say anything for a while, just blinked, then averted his eyes. But he smiled and said that it was. Good good, that was good. I do not like feeling like this, like I am a foreigner in my own skin. Awkward, embarrassed. And I like to think that he saw that. He walked to me, and resumed buttoning the back where I had left off. I was thinking of what to say, ask him how work was or something to fill this silence, but he spoke. He said that he thought that the dress was pretty, and so was I.
Oh dear.
I was really quite flustered. There is no way to dance around the fact. I was…at a loss for words, really, because I couldn’t remember the last time I heard those words from him. It was not a bad thing. When I was younger, they were words I heard all the time, and because of their frequency, they lost all meaning. “You are beautiful.” What meaning did those words have to me? And so, I loved the absence of those words from Viktor. He said other things that I liked. Things like “You’re intelligent.” “You’re decisive.“ “You’re stubborn.“ “You’re a little too brave.” I liked those much better. When I was younger. So hearing him say that he thought I was pretty made me feel silly. Silly in a good way. Like we were in high school again. Silly kids. He came round and beckoned me to bend just a little, and when I did, he kissed me. We have been married for almost ten years now, a kiss shouldn’t make mt stomach burst into butterflies like this. But it did. It did, and I stared at him like an idiot. Quite suddenly, I didn’t want to go to this party. I wanted to stay here, with him. Take the dress off and cuddle instead. I really did. But I also wanted to walk into a room, looking my very best and have a good time. One more than the other, but the other too strong to let go. So I asked him if he would like to come with me. It was sudden, out of the blue, he was probably tired from work, but I wanted him to go with me. He looked hesitant for a bit, but eventually, he said he would. I am writing this as he showers and changes, and the more I write, the more excited I feel. He has a lovely suit ready to go. I cannot wait to introduce him to my friends. A husband they had not yet met. I can’t wait for them to see how beautiful he is, to be charmed by his smile and wit. Oh dear, I can’t wait.
