(The Man and his new shoes.)
A tad over two hours away from where we live is San Remo, Italy. Since our friend's daughter Alice is staying with us we thought we would go there to have pizza.
Alice giggled, "Italy?!"
"One of the advantages of living in Europe," I pointed, "Pizza on one side and Paella on the other."
French Husband is the man of color these days. He lifted up his pant leg so you could see his colorful socks, at least he matched San Remo.
We had pizza, at a small "where the locals go" restaurant. The pizza had a delicate fine crust. I had the pizza with artichokes.
Pizzeria Pinocchio
Via Palazzo 111,
San Remo, Italy.
Alice and I thought we might wander around, peek into a few shops, walk along the beach, have a hot chocolate… though as surprising as this new year has been, I shouldn't have been surprise, but I was, when French Husband commented on his shoes.
"My shoes don't match my new pants. They don't look right. I have to find some new ones." He looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Do you think they look right?"
"No, they don't."
"Really? You think they don't look right with my new pants?"
"I like your shoes, but not with your new pants."
"I need new shoes."
"I couldn't agree more", and under my breath I thought, "What the hell is happening to my husband… he only buys one pair of shoes once every thousand years. Besides he loathes shopping."
If God himself had appeared in front of me I wouldn't have been more surprised. Have you ever seen someone transform right before your eyes? "Are you feeling okay?" I questioned him.
He simply said, "Yeah. Why? What's wrong?"
"At last you are turning into a girl."
He shook his head like he does when he doesn't really get what I am saying. "I am not a girl."
"I know, I know. What I mean is you are shopping, buying clothes, commenting on your shoes… it is all so new, so girl, so fun, so not you. Are you okay?"
Without dragging on about the change in his air, or how I adored his new ambition in life, I grabbed his hand and lead him into a shoe shop. I raced around grabbing every cool shoe I could find: Grey suede, white suede, purple velvet, grey linen and leather brogues… happily he tried them on.
If the Virgin Mary herself came up to me and said she wanted to give up her blue dress, and find something a bit more, you know, less conservative, I wouldn't have been more surprised.
French Husband bought some green/grey wing tip brogues.
Such a girl.
Such fun.
Kinda odd as well.
Later in the day French Husband noticed my shoes, "Are those new?"
All I could say was, "Where is my husband? Where did he go?"
As we headed home French Husband had news shoes, socks, and a yellow sports bag. He reasoned, when no reason was needed, given that he has carried his sports gear in a plastic grocery bag ever since I have known him, "I needed a sports bag. I did, didn't I?"
High-Five to the universe! At last the plastic grocery bag embarrassment is over.
And then it hit me… if you go back to the first photo… there I was taking a photo of French Husband with his new colorful attire, completely in love with this new leaf, this mid-life adventure, this man that keeps surprising me, this odd duck that I loved with his old shoes, old clothes and grocery bag that carried his sports gear, and love him now with his fountain of youth overflowing joy, that I didn't even go into the antique store behind him.
Do old dogs really learn new tricks, or do they finally come home to their true self?
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