Leading up to my husband’s 20th high school reunion, I asked if he wanted me to wear something special. “Don’t you want to be the one with the smokin’ wife?” I asked.
“I have the smokin’ wife. Wear jeans and a button down,” he replied. He was wearing jeans and a button-down, his weekend uniform but I wanted to look great. Not that I would know anybody who was there. With my youngest well over a year old, nobody would size me up and drop a jaw knowing I was a mom of two.
I dressed well, smiled politely and made small talk with the spouses. Occasionally I’d start talking to my husband’s colleague about who knows what and my husband would wonder off to reconnect with someone else and a classmate would join my conversation often mistaking me for the spouse of the friend.
I considered putting on a name tag but rather than put my name or wife of… I wanted to write something spicy, “That Girl” or “The one that got away,” but it was my husband’s weekend and I think he was more interested in recollecting with his friends than answering questions about his wife’s name tag.