Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
That's What She Said
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Thursday
Jul262012

How He Got Married And Bloated And Started Dressing In Rags 

I try not to concern myself with the daily affairs of Serge's clothing ensembles. Yeah sure, he's not exactly proving irresistible in what he wanders around in but also because I am no prize either, my friends, generally wrapping my body in whatever rags I pull out of my drawer or, if feeling fancy, whatever Walmart smock happens to be clean or - uh - least dirty.

So yes, I am no fashion plate either and will freely admit it isn't fair that when I avail myself of a "wifebeater" tank-top I can manage to impart some semblance of sexy (so I've been told) whereas when Serge dons the same garment he just imparts the semblance of, well, of wife beater.

Several years ago Serge started wearing white V-neck Hanes tees as if they were mandatory in our home and so it wasn't as if there was a whole lot for me to critique. Oh hey. Another white t-shirt.

Sure he'd sprinkle in a Willie Nelson t-shirt or a Waylon Jennings t-shirt just to keep things - uh - interesting, is the word I guess I'm looking for...But after about the 200th Jennings appearance you kind of start to see nothing.

Serge also has a self-admitted penchant for wearing work boots all the time. Middle of summer, 100 degrees, he's sporting thick socks and work boots. I mean, c'mon, I'm not asking for flip-flops or anything (he loathes flip-flops and cannot abide men who wear them) but what about a nice, nondescript shoe? Some black Chuck Taylors, perhaps?

Nothing doing. I've bought him shoes over the years and they languish in dark corners of closets, always playing second fiddle to the big, clumpy, paint-splattered work boots.

And it's not as if the man doesn't have style! When I met him he was sporting a very dapper pin-striped vest, for godsakes.

EXHIBIT A:



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I've gotta be honest with you here. I had a whole post planned out where I was going to talk about how Serge ditched any vestiges of fashion for a steady diet of t-shirts and Walmart cargo pants and instead I got all caught up in some old photos of Serge from his band days.

Sorry to get all puke-worthy on you but DAMN is he fine as wine. Just what mama likes. And maybe you'll excuse my exuberance for my fella because it is, in fact, so rare 'round these parts what with all the marital drama up in here.





Although I'm partial to the long hair I'll take a missionary cut as well!



Shit. I've gone and lost track of anything I was going to write. Anyway, the point was to showcase Serge's very hilarious post on He Said/She Said wherein he admits he stopped giving a shit.

PART I: How I Got Married And Bloated And Started Dressing In Rags

PART II: Old Work Boots And Camouflage Cargo: How NOT To Let Your Man Fall Out Of Fashion

View the metamorphosis from the guy pictured above to... this guy:



(Although I happen to think that guy is pretty cute...Except for those damned socks and boots he's wearing.)

(All photos except Lawnmower Man courtesy of the inimitable Amanda Coplans of Rock Stock and Barrel