When Aaron’s wife, Cori, slipped into a vintage dress, he had no idea it would turn their laid-back Saturday at the farmer’s market into something unforgettable...
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
Transcript
Aaron Calafato
My wife, Cori, just put on this vintage-looking dress and asked me, “How do I look?”
Now, for anybody who's married or in any kind of relationship, this is a far more complex question than it sounds. But I'm not just going to tell you what I said and how I answered. I’m going to tell you a story that happened that day—something that wouldn’t have happened if Cori hadn’t tried on that dress.
And I’ll do this right after the music.
As soon as she asked the question, I answered immediately: “You look beautiful. The dress is stunning. Great choice.” Is there really any other answer, by the way? I always tell her she’s like a vintage beauty because she has this kind of essence where she could fit in any decade.
But here’s the thing: I wasn’t the only one who thought this.
It all started Saturday morning on our first stop at the farmer’s market. This is one of my favorite things to do—the sights, the sounds, the smells—to relax and decompress from a long, mind-numbing week. And if the weather’s great, all the people, the produce, the little stands, and the crafts, plus walking with someone you love—Cori, in this case—makes it even better. Holding hands and strolling through, knowing there’s nowhere to go and no deadlines... That’s pure bliss.
And, of course, if there’s kettle corn, I’m a sucker for it. You could put kettle corn anywhere, and I’d be the first person in line. So, with that, I was all set.
Now, I also enjoy the solitude, even in crowded spaces. I don’t want to have meetings, network, or talk. In fact, if I run into people I know, I prefer a quick “hi-bye” because I’m on the microphone all week, telling stories all week. I’m on Riverside and Zoom all week. Sometimes, I just want to walk with my wife and space out.
But this dress became a problem early in the day because so many people—predominantly women—were coming up to her. They were saying, “What a nice dress!” Very kind, by the way. I love it when people take the time to say, “Hey, that looks nice,” or “I like your earrings,” or “I like your hair, I like your shoes.” I try to do that, too.
But this started becoming excessive, and it’s not anybody’s fault—it’s the damn dress. There was something about it that just motivated people to come up and say something. I couldn’t get through sentences. We couldn’t dive into conversations or enjoy the quiet—not for at least two hours at the farmer’s market.
Next, we headed to Kohl’s to do some returns. That’s just what happens on Saturdays. I’m along for the ride, cool with it. “Want to do some Amazon returns at Kohl’s and check some things out?” Sure. I’m on the cruise ship with you, sweetheart—let’s go. But as you could probably tell from our first stop, Cori noticed something: I was hangry.
I say I’m not, but she’s so awesome about this. Sometimes, on Saturdays, I wake up late, have some coffee, and skip breakfast. I always make that mistake. So, as we’re leaving the farmer’s market, she’s like, “Hey, I can tell you’re a little grumpy.”
I’m like, “I’m not grumpy. What are you talking about?” Just trembling, with bloodshot eyes: “I’m not grumpy!”
She’s like, “We should get something to eat.”
I said, “All right, let’s get some lunch. But we still have to do the returns first.”
We make our way to Kohl’s, and Cori’s in the return line. There’s this woman standing in the women’s dress section—whatever you call it. You’ve got to help me here. She looked like Glenda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. She looked at me and said, “Is that your wife?”
I don’t know how she made the connection or where she saw us, but I said, “You mean her?” And I pointed. She said, “Yeah, the one in the vintage dress.”
I said, “That is my wife.”
She said, “It’s a beautiful dress.” She shook her head a little and said, “You just don’t get that type of quality dress anymore, do you?”
I was like, “Ah, I guess you don’t.”
I turned around and looked at Cori in line, trying to get her attention, like, Help me. When I turned back around to respond to the woman and say, “Nice talking to you,” she was gone. Nowhere to be seen again. What the hell was that all about?
Maybe I really did need to eat more than I thought I did. We wrapped up our errands and headed back to the square. The farmer’s market had cleared out, and we went to the Chinese restaurant on the square. We sat down, and I started ordering everything off the menu. I’m talking appetizers, chef’s specials—I was already looking at dessert. I had a whole process in mind.
As we’re sitting at the table, I look over Cori’s shoulder, and there’s this elderly woman looking over at me—or it appeared to be me. I went back to the menu, and when I looked up, I could see the lady approaching our table. And I thought, Here we go.
She walked over to Cori and said, “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you during lunch.” She had a German accent, it sounded like. And she started telling us her story.
She said, “The strangest thing just happened to me. I noticed your dress, and it looks exactly like the dresses my mother would make by hand.”
She wanted to tell us that she was originally from Germany, that her family had left during World War II and moved to Britain. She ended up joining the British military, where she met her husband. They made their way to Hawaii, and eventually ended up in Ohio. Now, she’s here, in this restaurant, with us, telling us this story about the dress.
She said, “I haven’t gone home in a very long time. I can see my mother’s hands making that dress. And when I look at you, and I look at it, it just transported me back home with her for the first time in a very long time.”
Okay, four takeaways here:
I’m an ass, and I need to eat breakfast earlier in the morning.
Cori’s got a great sense of style.
Always tell your wife or significant other that they look great.
You never know how what you say, how you present yourself, what you wear, or what you share can become a connective tissue to someone else’s most treasured memories—and how important that is for them, and what a gift it is for you.
