When I walked into the restaurant wearing a fluffy dressing gown the colour of baby carrots and slippers with pink pom-poms, the waiters eye twitched as he tried to work out whether I was a madwoman or some sort of prankster. I simply smiled and said, «Please take me to the table reserved under the name of William Peterson. Theyre celebrating his fiftieth birthday.»
Poor chap led me through the dining room, and I could feel every pair of eyes on me. You know that feeling when youre walking and your footsteps echo like drumbeats? My slippers slapped against the parquet, the dressing gown billowed dramatically, and the pom-poms bounced merrily with every step.
But lets start at the beginning.
It all kicked off that morning, Wills big day. I woke at seven as usual and ran through the days agenda: hairdresser at ten, manicure at one, collect the cake by three, and be at the restaurant by four to check the place settings and greet the first guests. Will was still sprawled across the bed like a teenager whod been forced out of hibernation. Fifty years old, yet he woke up with the same sour expression as a moody teen.
The kettle hadnt even boiled when the phone rang. It was Patricia Petersonmy mother-in-lawcalling at eight in the morning. Now, Patricia is many things, but an early riser? That was new.
«Elsie, darling, good morning,» she cooed, her voice dripping with suspicious sweetness. «Did I wake you?»
«Not at all, Patricia,» I said, sounding far more composed than I felt. «Just preparing for the big day.»
«Well, thats exactly what I wanted to discuss. I have a delicate request.»
My internal alarm bells went off. When Patricia says «delicate request,» brace for impact. Fourteen years of marriage had taught me that much.
«Go on,» I said, bracing myself.
«You know how important today is for William. A milestone birthday, all eyes on him» She paused, and I could practically hear the cogs turning. «I was thinking perhaps you could, how shall I put it not steal the spotlight? Let my son be the star of the show?»
I nearly choked on my tea. «Pardon? Not steal the spotlight?»
«Yes, darling. No flashy dresses, no dominating conversations, no interrupting. Just let everyone admire the birthday boy.»
I let that sink in. So, the wifethe hostess of the eveningwas being asked to fade into the wallpaper.
«Patricia,» I said, ice creeping into my voice, «are you suggesting I turn up to the restaurant in my dressing gown?»
«Well, no need to be dramatic,» she chuckled. «Though if you did it with humour, why not?»
By nine, William finally surfaced, yawning so wide I half-expected to be sucked into the void.
«Elsie, where are my socks?» he grumbled, eyes still shut.
«In the afterlife, along with your youth,» I muttered.
No response. Whether he didnt hear or chose to ignore me was unclear. Fifty-year-old men have a knack for behaving like sulky adolescentsconstantly losing things and perpetually grumpy.
While he rummaged through the wardrobe, Patricias words played on loop in my head. «Dont steal the spotlight»? I was the hostess!
At ten, I was in the hairdressers chair.
«Elsie, what are we doing today?» the stylist asked cheerfully.
«Something invisible,» I sighed.
«Sorry, love?»
«Literally invisible. Make my husband shine while I dissolve into thin air.»
The stylist smirked but obliged, giving me a neat, understated blow-dryneither too plain nor too bold.
By one, I was at the manicurist, when inspiration struck. What if I took Patricias request literally? Turn up in an outfit so outrageous, the guests wouldnt know where to look.
When I got home, Will was already preening in his new suitthe one wed picked together. He looked dashing. Almost brought a tear to my eye.
«Elsie, what are you wearing tonight?» he asked absently.
«Oh, dont worry. Ive got something special,» I said with a mysterious smile.
Men. Never suspect a thing.
I dug out my brightest orange dressing gown and my pom-pom slippers. One look at the ensemble and I knewthis was it. If I couldnt shine, Id go all out in the opposite direction.
Walking into the restaurant, the waiter nearly dropped his tray. The guests whispered. And there, centre stage, sat Patricia in her finest «Queen of England» regalia.
Her face fell like shed just found a mouse in her handbag.
«Elsie!» she hissed. «What on earth are you doing?!»
«Whats wrong?» I blinked innocently. «Just following your advicenot stealing the spotlight. See? Everyones looking at Will.»
The room erupted in laughter. Will turned red but couldnt help grinning.
One tipsy uncle bellowed, «Now thats a proper wife! Turns up in a dressing gown for her man!»
Aunt Mabel chimed in, «At least shes comfortable! Look at those pom-poms bouncing!»
Instead of stiff formality, the party dissolved into warm, chaotic cheer. Photos were taken, toasts were made, and Will glowed like a Christmas tree.
Only Patricia sat storm-faced.
When the three-tiered cake arrived, she snapped. «This is a disgrace! On my sons most important day, you turn it into a circus!»
I shrugged. «But everyone will remember it. Isnt that the point?»
Then Will stood, firm. «Mum, enough. Elsies the best wife I could ask for. Without her, Id be celebrating alone with a takeaway and the telly.»
The guests cheered. I nearly cried.
Later, back home, Will tossed his jacket aside. «Elsie, youre mad. But thats why I love you.»
And I realisedsometimes, to show who you really are, all it takes is a dressing gown the colour of carrots.
Epilogue
A week later, Patricias photo album appeared online: *Williams 50th*. Half the pictures were of me in my gown and pom-poms.
Guess which ones got the most likes?
Now, whenever someone in the family says, «Dont steal the spotlight,» everyone just laughs.
