Shopping Spree

I'm sitting here listening to First Aid Kit playing Simon and Garfunkel's America. Our beagle Lexi is sprawled sleeping on the day bed beside the desk. It's cold outside and the sky is darkening with the end of the day, but here in the office it is warm, the shades are drawn, and a single lamp casts a warm light on my desk.

In the next room, Vicky is sleeping, blankets mounded high over her. Thirty minutes ago, we returned from a day out on the town. This is Vicky walking to the car...

We set out to buy her a single nice dress, one that she could feel pretty in as she went out into the world. But the prices were good, and I kept seeing dresses that might look nice. Each time I held one up, she looked at me shyly and said, "Really? We've already got one." But I was serious, and we walked out with four absolutely stunning dresses that Vicky loves.

"Now, shoes," I said. Vicky peered at me as if to decipher whether I had taken leave of my senses. 

"Shoes," I said again. 

"But I have shoes."

"To go with these new dresses? Look at the ones on your feet. They're bedraggled. You can't wear a new dress with bedraggled shoes."

She peered at me again, a curious smile on her face. "I've just never seen you this way before. You're usually so - I don't know - careful."

"Some men buy their wives convertibles when they're going through something like this. The least you can let me do is buy you a few dresses and some shoes."

At the shoe store, just for fun, we pulled down some boots and Vicky tried them on...

Fun to try, but she settled on some really cute dress shoes she knew she would wear. 

On the way home, Vicky was tired, but talkative:

"I don't think I've done such a thing ever in my life."

"Such what thing?"

"Buying so many clothes all at the same time, just for me."

Wow, that hit me. What have I been doing all these years that I've never done that for her? Granted, I have a veritable allergic reaction to even stepping foot into a clothing store, but look what I have missed: That look of unbelieving pleasure on her face, that dawning realization that she is worth enough to spend money on, that she has someone there who wants her to feel beautiful.

The last few weeks I've been feeling like a dizzy teenager that finds himself unbelievably holding hands with the prettiest girl in the school. This terrible thing she is fighting, instead of casting a pall over us, has made the air sharp and clear: Here's a lady that has stood at my side for over three decades, and I'm only now realizing what a lucky chump I am.