Married life has its challenges, and even the best of marriages have their little difficulties. How will our intrepid couple deal with the intricate trials of attending a formal social event together?
This is based on an actual event which happened to my husband and me this past weekend.
The one and only point to this pointless bit of fluff is to amuse my dear friend Wynsom. And myself, as well.
000
She was already dressed to the nines by the time he rushed home at noon of the big day. Little black dress, matching pumps, hair twisted in a preposterously complicated knot on the back of her head with endearingly wispy little curls framing her face. Mary looked fabulous—and frantic.
"I thought you'd be home sooner, Captain! Hurry and get ready; we don't want to be late!" She was sitting before the dressing table, applying makeup with a vengeance. John wondered why—she looked perfect without it.
"Sorry, love, I meant to be home an hour ago, but Sherlock needed me to. . . . ."
"Tell me later! Go shower! Get dressed!" His old regimental sergeant major had nothing on his wife. She had clearly missed her true calling.
So when he exited the shower, towel wrapped around his middle, he was rather taken aback to see Mary standing before her wardrobe wearing nothing but her bra and knickers. Smiling, he sneaked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. Nuzzling her soft, fragrant neck he murmured, "You look amazing!"
She chuckled. "You're supposed to say that when I'm dressed, not while I'm still in production," she protested cheerfully.
He kissed her shoulder. "Sorry, I always get that bit mixed up," he admitted, grinning broadly. ""I shall call this 'The Mystery of What Mary Watson Wore to the Wedding.' What happened to that black thing you were wearing? That was nice."
She sighed. "It was fine for the ceremony, but dancing in those pumps afterwards would have been hellish," she explained.
"Couldn't you just change shoes, then?" he asked innocently.
She twisted her head to give him an incredulous look. "How could I possibly wear any other shoes with that dress?"
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Of course, how ridiculous of me!"
"I have nothing appropriate to wear," she informed him mournfully.
"I like what you have on, personally," he replied playfully. "But I can imagine it isn't really appropriate for a wedding."
She snorted with laughter. "On Betazed, I'd be overdressed for a wedding," she reminded him, her geekiness showing. He smiled. What a simple world that would be—none of this drama over dress in the Star Trek universe.
"It doesn't matter what you wear, love. You make anything you put on look amazing," he assured her.
This time, she turned her entire body around in his arms and kissed him tenderly. "You say the sweetest things," she cooed. "I suppose I could just throw on my old dressing gown and house shoes and you'd think I looked fine."
He nuzzled her ear affectionately and whispered ardently, "I will if you will." She collapsed against him, laughing.
Losing the thread of the day's events, he held her close and kissed her passionately, his hands sliding gently over her silky skin. But it was difficult to kiss someone who couldn't stop laughing.
"Quit fooling around, Captain, we'll be late!" his lovely sergeant major said as sternly as she could while chortling madly.
"Maybe we could give this whole to-do a miss and just fool around," he suggested, kissing her hair.
She pushed him away firmly, still laughing but determined. "Bill Murray is one of your oldest friends, and he saved your life in Afghanistan. We are going to his wedding and we are going to enjoy it!" she told him.
"I saved his life first," he returned smartly. "I'd say we're even."
"He came to our wedding," she reminded him. "He's still one up on you."
"Our wedding was fun," he protested mildly, but was already heading for his wardrobe. As he donned his pants, he added, "Why don't you wear the dress you wore to our wedding? That white one with the blue sash?"
"Imagine you remembering what I wore four years ago!" Mary exclaimed. "You're such a romantic! But it's January, darling. I'm not wearing a white, sleeveless dress in the dead of winter. You're not thinking of wearing just a dress shirt instead of a suit?" she added. Her eyes were turned back into her own wardrobe, but apparently she had another pair in the back of her head. He sighed silently and put the colourful dress shirt back on its hanger and selected a plain white one that would match any suit.
"Of course not. It's January!" he muttered as he buttoned himself into it, and she giggled. "I suppose you think I ought to have rented formal wear," he complained.
"Ah, you'd look gorgeous in formal attire," his wife gushed. "But that would be a little much, I suppose. You're so lucky—you only have to decide between your brown or grey suits," she mused on, "I think I'll wear the green floor-length. It should be fun to dance in. But I'd have to wear heels with it—that could be treacherous."
He snorted. "You're treacherous when you're dancing, regardless of footwear," he reminded her. "Anyway, you know you'll kick your shoes off halfway through the first dance."
"I hate shoes. I wish I could just go barefooted," she fussed, sliding the green dress over her head carefully so as not to muss her hair.
"In January?" he chuckled. "So should I wear my grey or brown, do you think? The brown looks best with your green, doesn't it?"
"How astute you are!" she exclaimed in admiration. "Zip me up."
He loved zipping her up. It seemed so intimate and so domestic all at once. It was, in his mind, almost a perfect symbol of wedded bliss. A tender kiss at the nape of her neck concluded the operation. And then he slipped into his trousers and jacket while she hunted down appropriate footwear.
"Oh, you're beautiful!" his wife told him, straightening his tie a bit and ruffling up his hair the way she liked it.
"You look perfect," he replied. "I like that pendant with the colour of your dress. It suits you." He had learned to say weird things like that aloud instead of just thinking them. It made him feel the fool, but she loved hearing such nonsense so much it was worth it.
It was about a half-hour's taxi ride to the church where Bill Murray's wedding was to take place, and the Watsons took advantage of the time to chat and catch up on the events of the day. They never seemed to have enough time alone together, and had learned to grasp their chances when they could.
But the church was dark and deserted when they arrived. "This is the place," the driver assured them. "Looks like it's all over."
"But we arrived with ten minutes to spare!" Mary cried. "Where is everyone?"
"Perhaps they called it off at the last minute," John suggested. "Or maybe we're at the wrong church. Do you have the invitation?"
"No, I didn't keep it; I just entered the information into my phone," she admitted, pulling her mobile out of her purse. She pulled up her calendar and checked the entry. "Second January, two p.m., Holy Trinity Brompton. This should be right."
"Maybe there was a change of venue. I'll check if I still have the confirmation email." John pulled up his email on his own phone and scrolled down. "Yeah, here it is. Let's see. Wait, today's the second of January? This says the wedding's on the third."
Mary snatched his mobile out of his hand and studied it. "Oh, good Lord. I must have entered it on the wrong date in my calendar. How on earth did I do that?"
John shook with mirth. "Well, at least the wedding wasn't yesterday. If you had to make a mistake, you made it in the right direction."
His wife wasn't laughing. "But wait, what does your calendar have? We surely couldn't both have made the same mistake."
"Um, I don't put social stuff on my calendar—just work-related stuff," he admitted sheepishly. "For social events, I just do what you tell me."
"Really," she lifted an eyebrow at him. "When did you hire me to be your social secretary?"
"Um. When we got married?" he ventured hesitantly. To his immense relief, she found this hysterically funny.
"Well, you see where that got you!" she crowed. "Fire me and keep your own social calendar from now on!"
He grinned. "Hey, one mistake in four years—that's a pretty good record, I'd say. I think I'll keep you on."
She ignored his cheek. "Fortunately, my calendar's clear for tomorrow, too. And after today's dress rehearsal, it shouldn't take nearly so long to get ready."
"So where to, folks?" the driver wanted to know.
"What do you think? Want to eat out in a fancy restaurant, now we're all dressed up with no place to go?" he asked.
"Are you kidding? And risk spilling something on this dress? I need it for tomorrow! Let's go home and help each other out of these glad rags!" his wife exclaimed.
That sounded perfect to him.