My husband (let's call him MacGyver for anonymity) is über-talented. He grows an organic garden. He makes salsa to die for. He moves water heaters singlehandedly. In a winter storm situation| while others are busy untangling their snow blower power cords| and calling friends to say "Wow! How will I ever clean all this snow?"| my husband has already finished shoveling our driveway and is enjoying a foamy cappuccino with the Italian Nona across the street (having already finished shoveling HER driveway).
To add to this| he's a rocket scientist (no| seriously)| taking Microsoft Excel to new heights. He types so fast that he blows out the elbows on all his dress shirts from all the friction with his desk at work. When he does anything| he goes all the way. It's borderline frightening. When he vacuums| he moves all the furniture| finding hard cheerios and missing socks from 2001| and reaches places that I barely know exist. Even when he squeegees| he cleans the windows in such straight lines| that it's almost mesmerizing (no| really). He can even play the air guitar to a Guns 'n Roses tune so well| that Slash himself would be hard-pressed to match him.
House Arrest
I have much respect for his I-grew-up-on-a-farm-and-
caught-groundhogs-with-my-bare hands work ethic. But. There is one problem with this man that I find myself grappling with on an almost daily basis. I NEED TO MAKE A FASHION HOUSE ARREST. I need to call in the Fashion Police| big time. You see| while MacGyver is a skillful and highly self-motivated perfectionist| there is one small (or very large) problem. When doing anything outside the workplace| no matter the occasion| he is always sporting his home uniform.
Home Uniform
For my lovely husband| the home uniform is a pair of white tube socks pulled up to his knees| black ripped sweat shorts (sometimes revealing) and a t-shirt| usually circa 1976.
Before we got married| MacGyver moved to the ultra hip| San Francisco area| a.k.a. The Valley. I followed three months later. When I arrived| his office mates (women) pulled me aside and whispered We were wondering who this cute guy wearing tube socks every day would be married to! What would she look like? Would she also wear white tube socks? Do all Canadians wear white tube socks? Sigh. I knew I was in for it. Not to say that I'm any kind of fashionista. But I do wear things from the 2000's. And I've given up on my party 'till you puke iron-on tee| and my Flashdance leg warmers (at least in public).
Now don't get me wrong. He's a handsome guy| and he cleans up real good. He wears a suit to work everyday. When friends of mine happen to see him in a suit| they can't help but comment: Wow! Your husband...he looks so NICE. My dilemma is this. Yummy Mummies help me| please. How do I host a dinner party| and not have him in a t-shirt that reads Don't Drink and Drill? How do the kids and I dress up to go out| and not have him wear a Hard Rock Café shirt that is covered in salsa stains and a few big rips? When we're out in winter| how do I have this man wear the leather gloves I gave him for Christmas| instead of gardening gloves? How do I get this man out of shorts and into a nice pair of jeans?
And more importantly| why don't these fashion crimes bother him?
The Omniscient One
Maybe he knows the Truth.
On a recent winter excursion to my parents house (my conservative Indian father in his pressed cotton button down)| MacGyver decided to forgo boots altogether| and sport his usual Van running shoes (with the skull 'n bone pattern) circa 1997. As I eyed his feet| I was also simultaneously reading an Instyle Magazine. I turned the page and to my dismay| there it was. A photog shot of Ms. Seal herself| Heidi Klum| walking in Greenwich Village (of course)| eating an ice cream (yeah| sure) and wearing the same Van shoes!! Skull. Bones. Black and white. This was the beginning of the 'tude. The attitude| that is. This is when my dear husband looked at me smugly and said| See? Me & Heidi know what's going on. Get with the program| yo. My project Runway dreams had crashed before they even hit the runway.
I lovingly call him the Unabomber| because he is of the simplest ilk. In these days of big houses| expensive cars and brand names| he continues on his path that the best things in life| are free (and from 1976). That a can of cold pop only tastes good when you're covered in sweat from working outside. That light bulbs are overrated. When others are busy buying new cars on their lines of credit| MacGyver is busy rebuilding the engine of his 1994 model to make it last (true| that). Then happy to report back to me: Now the new engine only has 150|000km on it! We can drive this baby for another decade!!!
Maybe he's on to something. Maybe the secret to happiness is in the garden. Maybe true joy comes from making really good salsa and playing with the kids. How can he be punished for his fashion crimes? Maybe the Fashion Police could quietly make some things disappear. But the Fashion Police| as ruthless as they can be...would never have the heart to throw away that Rush Test For Echo concert tee-shirt. No matter how many holes later.
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