When Being Too Subtle Means That You're Not

“It’s an everlasting fruitcake, just as soon as it’s gone, it will reappear.

Though we’ve done our best to be rid of it, it shows up at our house each year.”

I don’t remember what year in school they made me learn this pretty ridiculous song, but I’ve never been able to get the imagery of it out of my head. It’s a holiday song about a family who can’t quite seem to get rid of a fruitcake they were gifted. They try numerous ways to pawn off the dreaded, stale, and heavy fruitcake – once even trying to send it to Norway – but somehow, it always finds its way back to them as a gift from someone else again.

What a pointless, unrelatable, silly story. Yes?

Maybe not. There’s a part in one of my favorite tv shows where a character is told by a fortune-teller (who he adamantly opposes) that his future would be “full of struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted.” Annoyed with the prophesy, the character angrily protests, only to end up kicking a small stone off the ground that ricochets back and hits him in the head. Case in point.

Occasionally, I have resonated with this. Often, my attempts to subtly and cleverly manipulate the world around me to avoid things I don’t like, just comes back to bite me in the bum. Somewhat like that the nasty fruitcake. It’s just good that it always makes me laugh. Because it is always self-inflicted. In that frame of mind, please enjoy this anecdote.

One of my best friends got married in California this past March. She requested that everyone in our close-knit friend group be a bridesmaid. And of course, that meant we all had to buy the same dress. Our friend picked it out online. We all agreed to buy it. So, her mother bought it in bulk, with each of us promising to pay her back.

I remained mostly mute about my particular opinion of the dress because when a friend gets married, that’s really the only opinion that matters. And I didn’t care that much since it was a one-time thing. To be clear, the dress was very pretty. I just didn’t like it on me. I’m not really a fan of the sorts of dresses that seem likely to blow away in the wind, leaving me unsure if I even put on clothes that morning. But in the end, I bought the dress. And I wore it. And that was that.

However, due to some odd circumstances, I ended up having to stay with that friend’s family for a few days after the wedding –after all of the other bridesmaids had already returned home. And of course, the bride was also gone. It was just me. And her brother. And her parents.

In those few days, I met the family of the groom as well. There was dinner and conversation. I watched the General Women’s Broadcast with her mother while half-sleeping on the couch. I slept in my friend’s bed. When I was packing up to go home, I realized that I had bought or received a few items while in California that wouldn’t fit into my bag flying back to Utah.

That’s when the scheme hit me – somewhat unrelated to the space in my bag. I was going to leave the Bridesmaid dress behind. Of course, that presented a problem. I hadn’t vocalized my feelings about the dress and I wasn’t too keen on anyone finding out – especially by me leaving it behind.

So, I walked into the room of my friend’s younger sister – who I had roomed with at college the year before—and looked around for a place to permanently stash the dress. I decided on the bottom drawer of her dresser that I assumed she hadn’t explored in years. Since she had already been away at college for a while, and the room had remained practically untouched, I was sure that it wouldn’t be found for at least a few years, if ever. And by then, no would care anymore. It seemed pretty full-proof and I made sure to stuff the dress at the very back, almost until it was dropped behind the drawer. In hindsight, I should have just let it fall.

Feeling almost pathetically satisfied with my victory of cleverly getting rid of the dress while avoiding a conversation about it, I got on the plane and flew home without a second thought.

Except a few weeks later, it somehow came up in conversation. Apparently, at the time, not everyone had paid my friend’s mother back for the dress. So, the younger sister wanted to thank me on behalf of her mother for paying for it. She also mentioned that her mother thought I looked really good it in, to which I probably made a face.

Knowing that I wasn’t in love with it, this friend then asked me what the chances were that I was going to wear it again. Well, none, of course, because I’ve gotten rid of it. But I didn’t say that. I think just sort of hemmed and hawed my way around saying “pretty unlikely.”

Through the course of some back and forth conversation, she eventually told me that her mother felt guilty that I had paid for the dress when I didn’t like it and didn’t intend to wear it again. She said her mother offered to pay me for it, thinking she could use the material for something else or give it to someone who would want it. I remember that conversation to be something as follows:

“My mom says you can just give her the dress back, and she’ll pay for it,” my friend explained.

“Well, she doesn’t have to do that,” I evaded, thinking over the irony that the dress was actually in her house.

“But if you’re not going to wear it again, and you don’t want it, she can actually use it. She’s probably coming out to visit sometime soon, why don’t you just give it to her?”

…Crap. It’s a shame I’m a horrible liar, because I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Uh, well, I can’t do that,” I finally stated.

“Why not?”

“I don’t exactly have it with me….”

“What?” My friend was reasonably baffled, especially after so many conversations. “Where is it?” You can probably imagine the awkwardness of that piece by piece, evasive conversation.

“It’s, uh, at your house.”

“You left it at my house?”

“Well, I didn’t really have room for it in my bag when I was flying back.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, where is it?”

“I... well, I put in in your dresser drawer.”

I think she laughed at me there. Everyone probably would. And before you know it, I had to explain the whole dumb thing. A few days later, I found out that her mother had gone and dug through the drawers and found it stuffed at the very back. She washed it, fixed it up a little, and the conversation renewed about whether or not I actually wanted the dress. Of course, I didn’t want the dress. I had stuffed that thing away ‘til doomsday.

So, she offered to pay for it. I refused, sort of, while also admitting I wouldn’t hate getting the money back. But nothing ever seemed to resolve itself. Over the summer, my friend left for an English teaching program in Lithuania, and I all but forgot about the dress entirely. When she got back, her mother drove out to Utah to bring her the family truck.

Yes, you can see it coming. When I went to help my friend move into her new apartment, she reached into her bag of belongings and pulled out a repackaged, fixed up purplish-blue dress that I had once thought was gone forever. I remember looking down at it in shock and the words from that elementary school song came back into my head, although perhaps appropriately modified:

“It’s the everlasting bridesmaid dress. Just as soon as it’s gone, it will reappear. Though I’ve done my best to be rid of it. It shows up at my house each year.”

In case anyone is wondering. It is now hanging somewhat purposelessly on a hanger in my closet (picture below). Because, really, I don’t know what to do with it anymore. Of course, I’m glad my friend’s mom thinks it looks great on me, but I’m not really confident that I’m ever going to take it off that hanger. I think I’m afraid what would happen if I tried to give it away.

So, here’s to being subtle.