My Better Half

I told Abbi that my suede bucks, seersucker pants, white oxford, pink and blue striped tie and blue blazer were so over-the-top Preppy that they were rock ‘n roll. Then I looked in the mirror.

I have a new t-shirt that I love. It’s a thin, soft, dark blueberry American Apparel with banana lettering that reads, “Des Moines: The Greatest City In The World.”

I love it because it’s soft, and comfortable, and clings just enough to make me look semi-fit without looking fat. And I love it because of the message it sends my big city bretheren: your streets and skyscraper and sirens and sarcasm and such don’t impress me. Give me open spaces. Give me authenticity. Give me calm, conscientious community.

And, like Jack Kerouac said, “The prettiest girls in the world live in Des Moines.”

Though on Saturday night, I would have vehemently disagreed. The prettiest girl in the world lives in New York City. And she’s going to be my wife. The thought occurred to me numerous times Saturday night, there in the Osbun’s living room (where I was pinned against the fireplace by a constant onslaught of gracious well-wishers), watching Abbi glide across the room.

The interesting thing about finally committing to someone is that it’s really a committment to yourself. It’s a committment to being the best that you can be. And you don’t shed your favorite t-shirt and step up — into suede bucks, seersucker pants, white oxford, pink and blue striped tie and blue blazer, for example — because someone else wants you to. You do it because you want to. And because, yunno’ what? Rock ‘n roll or not, shit looks pretty fly.

The great thing about Abbi, of course, is that she wears both: the favorite t (her’s is jade green), and the gold linen, empire waisted Shoshana dress. And she looks stunning in either. Which is how I know…

Of course, fashion is a red herring. This is not about fashion at all. This is about the rest of my life. And for the first time ever, I think it’s beginning to fit.

P.S. Happy Birthday Edward!