When I walked into the restaurant wearing a fluffy orange dressing gown and pink pom-pom slippers, the waiters eye visibly twitched as he tried to decide whether I was a madwoman or some sort of prankster. I just smiled sweetly and said, «Please take me to the table reserved under the name William Peterson. Its his fiftieth birthday.»
The poor man led me through the dining room, and I could feel every pair of eyes on me. You know that sensation when your footsteps seem to echo through the entire room? My slippers slapped against the polished floor, my gown flapped behind me, and the pom-poms bounced cheerfully with every step.
But let me start from the beginning.
It all kicked off that morningthe day of Wills milestone birthday. I woke at seven, as usual, and ran through the days plan in my head: hairdresser at ten, manicure at one, pick up the cake by 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. Honestly, for a man turning fifty, he still woke up like a grumpy teenager.
The kettle hadnt even boiled when the phone rang. Margaretmy mother-in-lawwas calling at eight in the morning. She was never one for early calls, so this was unusual.
«Emily dear, good morning,» she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. «Did I wake you?»
«No, Margaret, Im up,» I replied, already wary. «Just getting things ready for the party.»
«Well, thats what I wanted to discuss,» she said. «I have a delicate request.»
My guard shot up. When Margaret said «delicate request,» it usually meant trouble. After fourteen years of marriage, I knew the drill.
«Go on.»
«You know today is such an important day for William. A big milestone, all eyes should be on him»
She paused, and I braced myself.
«So I was thinking perhaps you could, well, not draw too much attention to yourself? Let him be the star of the evening?»
I nearly choked on my tea.
«Excuse me? Not draw attention?»
«Exactly,» she pressed. «Avoid bright dresses, dont interrupt, dont arguejust let everyone focus on the birthday boy.»
I went silent, processing the absurdity. She wanted methe wife and hostessto fade into the background.
«Margaret,» I said coldly, «are you suggesting I show up in my dressing gown?»
«Dont be dramatic,» she chuckled. «Though, if youre going for humour, why not?»
By nine, Will finally stirred, yawning so wide I half-expected to be sucked into the abyss of his mouth.
«Em, where are my socks?» he mumbled, eyes still closed.
«In another dimension, along with your youth,» I muttered.
He didnt respondeither he didnt hear or chose to ignore it. Men at fifty were just oversized teenagers, perpetually losing things and sulking.
As he rummaged through the wardrobe, Margarets words gnawed at me. «Dont draw attention»? This was *my* party too!
At ten, I was in the hairdressers chair.
«What are we doing today, Emily?» the stylist asked brightly.
«Something invisible,» I sighed.
«Sorry?»
«Literally. Make sure my husband shines while I dissolve into the wallpaper.»
She snorted but obliged, styling my hair neatlynot too flashy, not too dull.
By one, I was at the nail salon, and thats when the idea struck me: What if I took Margarets request *literally*?
When I got home, Will was already preening in his new suitlooking every inch the dashing fifty-year-old.
«Em, what are you wearing tonight?» he asked.
«Oh, dont worry,» I grinned. «Ive got something special planned.»
He didnt suspect a thing. Men never do.
I pulled out my bright orange dressing gown and pink pom-pom slippers. One look at the ensemble, and I knew: *This was it.* If I couldnt stand out, Id stand out *invisibly*.
Walking into the restaurant, the waiter nearly dropped his tray. Guests whispered. And there, in the centre, sat Margaret, dressed like the Queen at a garden party.
Her face fell as if shed just bitten into a lemon.
«Emily!» she hissed. «What on earth are you doing?!»
I blinked innocently. «Following your advice. Not drawing attention. See? Everyones looking at Will.»
The room erupted in laughter. Will turned beetroot but cracked a smile.
One tipsy uncle bellowed, «Now *thats* a devoted wife! Shows up in a dressing gown for her man!»
Aunt Joan added, «Prioritising comfort! Love the pom-poms!»
Instead of stiff formality, the party buzzed with warmth. People took selfies with me, and Will glowed like a Christmas tree.
Only Margaret sat stewing.
When the three-tiered cake arrived, she snapped. «This is disgraceful! On my sons big day, youve turned it into a circus!»
I shrugged. «At least theyll remember it. Isnt that the point?»
Then Will stood, silencing the room. «Mum, enough. Emilys brilliant. Without her, Id be celebrating alone with a beer.»
The guests cheered. I nearly cried.
Later, at home, Will tossed his jacket aside and grinned. «Youre mad, Em. But thats why I love you.»
And I realisedsometimes, all it takes is a carrot-coloured dressing gown to show people who you really are.
Epilogue
A week later, Margarets photo album appeared online. Half the pictures were of me in my gown and pom-poms.
And guess what? Those got the most likes.
Now, whenever someone says, «Dont draw attention,» the whole family laughs.
