Journal of a Living Lady #147

 

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

 

I don’t know what it is so enticing about my smell. Our little Chihuahua, Oppie, will find anything I have worn and curl up on it or under it. She has her own blankets. They are nicer than the ones we have on our human beds. Yet, Oppie will only use those blankets if she can’t find my used towel, bathrobe or whatever. Wearable items belonging to Buddy or Charlie won’t do. Just mine. I consider it a cute canine idiosyncrasy.

 

Now, Buddy, on the other hand has a similar trait that I think odd. He has a lined, tan London Fog raincoat, a navy overcoat, a black leather jacket, a leftover airline coat, and a host of fleecy outerwear. But what does he wear every chance he gets? My XXL, fire engine red car coat, circa 1980.

 

That red jacket hangs on the coat rack near the back door along with several others in the wintertime. This husband of mine dons it for trips to the mailbox, the garage, and anywhere else that doesn’t require more formal attire.

 

Early this snowy morning, Buddy traipsed through the bedroom with that coat on again. I couldn’t help but smile. He was also wearing my red and green Christmassy toboggan with its silly little tassel.

 

What is it with this man? I don’t wear his pajamas. Actually, I probably couldn’t get the bottoms up past my knees. He has the skinniest legs in the hemisphere.

 

Now, I know there is a name for men who wear women’s clothes, but believe me. Buddy doesn’t fall into that category. He is as straight as a cast-iron arrow. It has to be the smell. If you ask him, he will tell you the red coat is simply available or comfortable or has a hood on it. I really don’t care if he wears it. I just find it amusing.

 

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