Love Story (But With the Tragedy Confined to Fashion Choices)

Generally speaking, Oliver and I are a perfect match. Our personal styles, on the other hand, haven't always been in harmony.

Look at us in high school. Oliver was the ultimate 80s preppie, embracing sweater vests and layered pink and green polo shirts. Meanwhile, I was treating my high school to a parade of countless broomstick skirts and tie-dyed t-shirts. When I wasn't dressing in frumpy denim jumpers and turtlenecks. Either way, you would never have imagined the two of us together.

And then we went to two very, very different colleges.

When we met in grad school, we had settled into more individual styles. Oliver owned so many plaid shirts that once, walking into an Eddie Bauer, I was overcome by the sight of all the mannequins. They looked like a clone army of Olivers. I looked like a Victorian widow.

A few years later, we got teaching jobs, moved to Florida, and started dressing better. Faced with the Florida heat, I've traded in much of my voluminous black for little vintage-style dresses that are light on the fabrics, heavy on the polka dots. Oliver has essentially the same classic style he's always had, just a little more grown-up.

And look! We totally match.