My husband Dan was walking out the door last Saturday morning wearing a variation of his weekend capsule wardrobe – Wrangler jeans with a T-shirt, a utility belt with a Leatherman hooked to the side of his waist, an unpressed Cabela’s shirt bearing a West Virginia Wildlife Federation patch, a trucker cap sitting precariously on top of his head, and a large amount of facial hair.

I thought to myself, how would he like it if I wore that outfit? How would others respond to me if, instead of dressing like a mom (jeans and sneakers) or a librarian (sweater and glasses), I dressed like a virile woman, the kind who drives a truck with an extended cab instead of a small silver SUV?   

I decided it would be interesting to find out. After 40-some years of being the same person almost every day (I occasionally pretend to be someone more important than myself, like Joyce Carol Oates), I was bored. I needed an experiment. Not only would I wear my husband’s clothes, but I would listen to his favorite music and eat some of his favorite foods. Unfortunately, I don’t have his mechanical skills, so I couldn’t fix any broken appliances. Rather than relax in his recliner watching documentaries about the Alaskan wilderness all day, I decided to substitute his household maintenance duties with my usual chores – dishes, laundry, cleaning bathrooms, etc.

I grabbed a pair of Wrangler jeans from his pile in our bedroom. They were nearly a perfect fit, but since my butt is a lot bigger than his, I filled them out more. I borrowed his brown leather belt with the deer on it, his blue Millbrook High School T-shirt, red flannel shirt, and an orange camouflage hat. 

Dan and I like some of the same music. He usually has his garage radio tuned to a country music station. I tend to listen to instrumental music or 90s alternative folk-rock, but I decided on Neil Young because he’s one of Dan’s favorite singers, though I’ve never been a fan. Neil’s a bit whiny if you ask me, but certainly more enjoyable than Tom Waits, another singer Dan likes. 

I sat down to work at my computer while listening to Neil Young, and our son Oliver approached me.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Answering an email,” I said.

“No, why are you wearing that hat?”

“Oh, I’m wearing your Dad’s clothes today. It’s an experiment I thought would be interesting.”

“Are you going to wear that all day?” he asked. “Even when we go out?”

“Yeah,” I said enthusiastically.

“I don’t think you should,” he said. “Please don’t wear the hat.”

“Oliver,” I said, “sometimes a guy just has to be embarrassed by his parents.”

He sighed and moved on.

I’m pretty sure that if I always dressed in flannel shirts and trucker caps, as some women do, he wouldn’t feel embarrassed because he would be used to it. Then again, one thing about my kids is neither one of them likes to make unusual statements with their clothing. They’re better than I was at choosing clothes that won’t attract a lot of negative attention, and maybe that explains why both were mortified about going out with me in my manly outfit.

Oliver and I had to pick my daughter Annabelle up from a friend’s house. Unbeknownst to me, my friend’s entire family extended family was there and they were filming a Christmas gift exchange when I walked in the door wearing the orange camouflage hat, which I removed as soon as I stepped inside, as Dan would do to be polite. 

“Hey redneck!” my friend shouted at me.  Hmm. I don’t think Dan’s friends always greet him that way. 

I’ll admit I was a bit embarrassed in front of the people I didn’t know, especially with the camera on. I felt the need to explain that I was wearing my husband’s clothes, but there was so much activity, I couldn’t explain why. I’m not sure I knew why I was wearing Dan’s clothes. 

Annabelle expressed her dismay when she got into the car. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “It made you look trashy.”

Ouch. I haven’t been told I looked trashy since I wore fishnet tights almost 20 years ago.

Since I wasn’t about to drink a real beer (never have acquired the taste), I decided I should make Harry Potter butterbeer with a recipe I saw online, which meant we had to go to Walmart to get cream soda.

Even though I agreed not to wear the hat into the store, Annabelle immediately started thinking of ways to avoid being seen with me.

“Can I go look at the toys?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “This will only take a minute.”

“Can I go look at the clothes? Please!”

So I said OK and told the kids to meet me at the checkout.

On the way inside, I saw one of my former students. She didn’t acknowledge me, and I wasn’t about to call out to her and start waving. Whenever I go grocery shopping, my goal is to avoid seeing anyone I know. Apparently I’m even less excited about seeing acquaintances when I’m dressed as a person whose favorite activities are restoring carburetors and cutting firewood.

As we all know, Walmart is a parallel universe. You could devote an entire blog to the bizarre experiences and observations a person has in that store. I was, however, certain that I would not have stood out in the least at this particular Walmart even if I had worn the orange camouflage hat throughout the entire shopping excursion.

At the self-checkout, I saw one of my coworkers. I didn’t say hello.

I pulled up to our garage, where Dan was working on the motorcycle his stepfather had just given him. When he saw my outfit, he asked what I was trying to pull.

“I’m just bored,” I told him. In the immortal words of Bruce Springsteen, I’m tired and bored with myself.

Back at home, I got to work on the butterbeer. Here’s what I learned: No. 1, always follow a new recipe exactly. Do not substitute 2 percent milk for heavy cream. No. 2, even if you can’t stand the taste of real beer, there is really no need to put brown sugar and butter in cream soda. Just make an ice-cream float. It’s a lot easier.

I had planned to watch something really violent or perhaps a crime documentary that night because that’s what Dan would normally do, but he suggested we watch a couple of episodes of a series about a family with an autistic teen son, which I’m sure I enjoyed more.

Since I didn’t want to wear Dan’s clothes again the following day, I told Annabelle I was going to be her instead, which would mean wearing skinny jeans, a hoodie, and eating a diet of only cheese, fruit, crackers, and Flaming Hot Cheetos.

I never did get around to the Cheetos.

When I was little, I used to make my mother guess who I was every morning. Usually it was a character from a fairy tale. For a long period, I was obsessed with Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty. I also had an imaginary friend named MacDonald who I said came out of a hole in the ceiling. Having seen The Exorcist, my mother was worried. 

Pretending to be someone else is a great way to cope with mid-life ennui, and I plan to continue it. 

If you want me to be you, just send me a message with your photo and a list of favorite songs, shows, and foods I can and can’t eat. 

I’ll let you know how it goes.