Six Years of Tennis Shorts on a Saturday Night

As hours-old newlyweds, the first thing John and I did upon arriving at our posh Chicago hotel for our honeymoon was ditch the fancy clothes – the shoes and the hose and the jewelry – and dive head first into worn cotton t-shirts and soft mesh tennis shorts.

The second thing?

We ordered a pizza — we were starved from not actually having eaten much dinner during our reception.

As we spread our feet out before us while perched atop the fluffy white down-covered hotel bed, devouring deep-dish pizza, our eyes locked, we grinned like idiots and he said what we were both thinking:

“We get to do this for the rest of our lives.”

I laughed.

“What?” I’d said. “Throw a helluva party and then retreat back to our creature comforts and crash together?”

“Yeah,” he’d smiled. “Exactly that.”

*

We arrive home from a small dinner date in celebration of our sixth wedding anniversary.

We know how to dress for the occasion of dinner at an old-world-style Italian restaurant — him in a blue-checkered collared shirt and dark-washed fitted jeans; me in apple-red high heels, black tight-as-a-glove fitted ankle-length pants and a white sweater.

We nosh on delicious food, enjoy the patio-view and the September-blooming flowers and laugh when a little boy, about age four, races to the edge of the pond, comes to a dead halt and proceeds to pee into the pond, his parents chasing wildly behind him, only to find him at water’s edge mid-pee.

We pitstop at Whole Foods and while picking up a few essentials come across coconut milk ice cream; we buy some with full intent on it being our date-night dessert upon arriving home.

No sooner than I arrive at our house after driving the babysitter home while John had wrangled the boys into Buzz Lightyear pajamas, do we both race into the bedroom to ditch our lovely threads and slide into soft cotton t-shirts and tennis shorts.

We settle the boys in between their flannel sheets, pull a fluffy down comforter over their feet and snuggle little bodies to sleep before slipping out the creaky door.

Quietly, we sneak down the stairs, sink into the couch, one spoon for two mouths in one coconut ice cream container and begin talking about the boys, our life, our day, our wedding.

And here we are – six years later to do the day and date – at the after-party, wrapped up in soft clothing, our shoulders pressed together as we sit-side-by-side on the couch giggling and sharing dessert.

And while the meal du jour has changed from pizza to delicious coconut ice cream and the clothing threads of old tennis shorts, perfectly worn and soft against our skin, are different, and our cush landing has changed from a fluffy bed to a couch, my best creature comfort, John, remains the same.

The best creature comfort I have is you.

Hyacynth Worth writes about motherhood, faith and every-day life at Undercover Mother.