Carmen Miranda of the Laundromat

When I woke up and came out of the bedroom, Chris was already dressed in his inimitable way.

It was cold and he had swathed random laundry from the dryer around his head and neck, piling it high.

He looked like a Carmen Miranda of the Laundromat.

He immediately tried to explain himself.

I remembered my regrettable controlling reaction to him wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt as pants (legs through the sleeves, jaunty knot at the waist) and I chose differently.

“Honey, you can wear whatever you like. I love you.”

I am grateful that, this time, I was able to let Chris be Chris and appreciate him for who he is, unconventional use of clothing and all.