The Ballad of Sexy Fester
About a month before I got married, my Aunt Pat sent me a sizable gift card to Victoria’s Secret as a wedding gift. It came with instructions to buy myself some fancy underpants and whatnot. Brushing aside the fact that I was about eight weeks pregnant (because I was obviously going to be a magical unicorn of a woman who lost all baby weight two weeks after the serene birth of my son), I tore through the Victoria’s Secret website, buying all manner of lacy, frilly, generally useless pieces of clothing with my honeymoon in mind. It was a lingerie bonanza, and being that I had never really cared about matching my bra and underpants, it was a revelation.
About a year and a half later, those fancy underthings sit in my drawer, pretty much untouched since my husband and I returned from the world’s tamest trip to Las Vegas. I currently sleep in something Ross affectionately (I think) calls “Sexy Fester”. Basically, when maxi dresses started appearing everywhere, I convinced myself to buy one, because clearly nothing looks more attractive on a six foot tall woman with child-bearing hips than a straight column of long fabric. It was black and basically looked like the world’s longest wife beater tank top. When I got home, I realized that it looked terrible and decided to use it as a night shirt. My husband told me I looked like Uncle Fester. I wore it rarely, until it got warmer and I realized that if I cut off about two and a half feet of fabric, the maxi dress would become a kind of tolerable nightshirt. I wore it to bed and Ross said something like “Ooooh, sexy Fester!” and we never had sex again EVER.