When I walked into the restaurant in my fluffy dressing gown the colour of young carrots and my slippers with pink pom-poms, the waiter didnt believe I was the birthday boys wife at first. Honestly, I saw his eye twitch as he tried to figure out if I was a madwoman or some kind of prankster.
And there I was, perfectly calm, saying, Please take me to the table reserved under the name of William Peterson. Theyre celebrating a fiftieth birthday.
Poor chap led me through the entire dining room, and I felt every pair of eyes in the place on me. You know that feeling when you walk and its like your footsteps echo through the whole building? My slippers slapped against the parquet, my dressing gown billowed, and the pom-poms bounced cheerfully with every step.
But lets start from the beginning.
It all began that morning, on Wills big day. I woke up at seven, as usual, and immediately ran through my mental checklist: hair appointment at ten, manicure at one, pick up the cake at three, and be at the restaurant by four to check the table settings and greet the first guests. Will was still sprawled across the bed, snoring, and I thought, *Honestly, what a lazy lump in the mornings. Fifty years old and still waking up like a grumpy teenager.*
The kettle hadnt even boiled when the phone rang. It was Margaret Petersonmy mother-in-lawand calling at eight in the morning was *new*. Margaret was punctual, sure, but this early? Suspicious.
Good morning, dear, she chirped, her voice dripping with sweetness. Did I wake you?
No, no, Margaret, Im already up. Getting ready for the party.
Ah, well, thats actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a *delicate* request.
I stiffened. When Margaret started with delicate request, trouble followed. Fourteen years of marriage had taught me that much.
Go on.
You know how important today is for our William. A milestone, all these gueststhe attention should be on *him*
She paused, and something unpleasant squirmed in my gut.
So I was thinking perhaps you could, well *not stand out* too much today? Let my son be the star of the show?
I nearly choked on my tea.
Im sorry*not stand out*?
**Chapter 1: The Mother-in-Laws Request**
You know skip the flashy dresses, dont draw too much attention, dont argue, dont interrupt. Let everyone focus on the birthday boy.
I froze, processing. So my rolewife and hostesswas to become a *wallflower*?
Margaret, I said coolly, are you asking me to turn up to the restaurant in my *housecoat*?
Oh, dont be dramatic, she tittered. Though if you did it with humour, why not?
**Chapter 2: The Birthday Boys Morning**
By nine, William finally woke up, yawning so wide I nearly got sucked into the vortex.
Elsie, where are my socks? he mumbled, eyes still closed.
In the afterlife, along with your youth, I muttered.
No replyeither he didnt hear or pretended not to. Men at fifty could be such moody teenagers, always losing things and perpetually disgruntled.
As he rummaged through the wardrobe, I couldnt shake Margarets words. *Dont stand out?* But I was *co-hosting*!
**Chapter 3: Hair & Nails**
By ten, I was in the stylists chair.
What are we doing today, love? she asked cheerfully.
Something *invisible*, I sighed.
Pardon?
Literally invisible. Let the husband shine while I dissolve into the air.
The stylist snorted but didnt argue. She gave me a neat, *unremarkable* blowout.
By one, I was at the nail salon. And then*inspiration*. What if I took Margarets request *literally*? Turn up looking like Id just rolled out of bed?
**Chapter 4: Operation Housecoat**
When I got home, Will was already dressing. His new suitthe one wed picked togetherfit him perfectly. Handsome devil. Almost brought a tear to my eye.
Elsie, what are you wearing? he asked absently.
Oh, dont worry. Ive got something *special*, I said mysteriously.
As usual, he suspected nothing. Men never do.
I dug out my bright orange terrycloth dressing gown and my fluffy slippers with the pink pom-poms. One look at this *masterpiece* of an outfit, and I knew: *This is it.* If I couldnt stand out, Id *blend in*spectacularly.
**Chapter 5: The Restaurant**
I strode into the dining room. The waiter nearly dropped his tray. Guests whispered. And there, centre stage, sat Margaret in her Queen of England finest.
When she saw me, her face puckered like shed just bitten into a lemon.
Elsie, she hissed, what on *earth* are you doing?!
Whats wrong? I blinked innocently. Just following your advice*dont stand out*. See? Everyones looking at Will.
The room erupted in laughter. William turned redthen cracked up himself.
**Chapter 6: The Party Crashes On**
From there, things snowballed. One tipsy uncle bellowed, Now *thats* a devoted wife! Wears her housecoat for her husbands big day!
Aunt Mabel added, And look at those pom-poms! So *cheerful*!
Instead of stiff formality, the party buzzed with warmth. People laughed, took photos with me, and William glowed like a Christmas tree.
Only Margaret sat stormier than a Bank Holiday weekend.
**Chapter 7: The Cake Incident**
When the three-tiered cake arrived, Margaret exploded.
This is *disgraceful*! On my sons most important day, you turn it into a *circus*!
I shrugged. But its *memorable*. Isnt that the point?
Suddenly, William stood. Mum, *enough*. Elsies the best wife I could ask for. Without her, Id be celebrating alone with a TV dinner and a pint.
The guests cheered. I nearly cried.
**Chapter 8: The Aftermath**
Back home, William tossed his jacket aside.
Elsie, youre mad. But thats why I love you.
And I thought: *Sometimes, to show who you really are, all it takes is a dressing gown the colour of carrots.*
**Epilogue**
A week later, Margarets photo album appeared with the caption: Williams 50th. Half the pictures were me in my housecoat and pom-poms.
And guess what? Those were the most-liked photos of all.
Now, whenever someone in the family says, Dont stand out, everyone bursts out laughing.
