I really couldn’t understand why my mother-in-law was sobbing.
I thought I was being abundantly clear. Which was frustrating the heck out of me because I really can’t stand it when women cry. (I really don’t like it when anyone cries, to be honest. It’s super awkward. For this reason my wife has determined me to be mildly autistic.) All I told her was that every decision she’d ever made in life was probably the wrong one.
But, I mean, the look on the bright side! Now she knows! Right?!
*sigh* My poor, poor mother-in-law. She puts up with an awful lot.
By way of a Jewish prophetess doing reasonably popular YouTube videos that are, in all honesty, far lengthier than they have a right to be, given their popularity my wife stumbled upon an energy healer and Reiki master who has decided to hop, skip and jump her merry way into fashion. And, as with all great things, she decided to implement her special breed of woo-woo into the mix and has created a concoction that is not only wildly commercially successful, but also incredibly beneficial to the public at large.
Carol Tuttle. The sassy-as-hell behemoth of internet marketing and all things amazing empress of Dress Your Truth, which seems to be a subset of Live Your Truth – but honestly, as long as you’re doing something with your Truth (as long as it’s not denying it) who the hell cares, right? It’s all gonna be pretty sweet, I reckon.
So, my wife was absolutely and 100% sucked into this. I mean, holy scha-moley did Carol do a sell job on her! My wife, the not-to-be-sold-to. My wife, the take-your-wares-and-shove-them-up-your-rear. My wife, the woman who would, as David Spade so eloquently put it, ‘sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves’ and will not be “sold” by anyone, went for the bait on this like I’ve never seen her gobble up anything else.
The crazy thing? It’s not even like Carol needed to do any hard selling. This offer was just so ridiculously appealing that she simply couldn’t pass it up.
Now, she and I both have the habit of putting people into neat little boxes based upon all sorts of things: Zodiac, Chinese Zodiac, Myers Briggs, The Enneagram – I mean the list goes on. (I’ve even gone so far as to run an analysis of everything that I am and compare it with other famous people to see who I most closely align with. I even did a Venn diagram to show it in vivid visual detail! And, I don’t wanna brag or anything, but me and Cameron Diaz? Practically twins.)
But, when Baby got a hold of Carol (or, rather Carol got a hold of Baby) it was like, “STOP THE PRESSES! HOLD EVERYTHING!” All of a sudden, I couldn’t take a sip of coffee without my wife saying something to the tune of, “You’re such a Three.”
So, I asked.
I mean of course I asked! She told me all about what a Three I was. How my descriptive words were dynamic and rich and textured.
“Yes!” she squealed. “And layered!”
Things started changing quickly. My wife, a typical summer-dress, barely-there flowery panties, hair in a cute and unthreatening style with nails the color of Tropical Skittles type, started dressing in blacks and reds! She started demanding sharp haircuts that were bold and striking! Everything on her needed to be high contrast or, paradoxically, no contrast! And, if Carol was reading this, she would know what Type my wife is from the first reference to black. (FYI, she still wore those barely-there knickers (hallelujah!) but now they were jet black, or hot pink.)
And, I have to say… I liked it.