My Fashion Sense (or lack thereof)

Scott just doesn't trust my ability to pick out clothes for myself. Not that I am a fashionista in any sense of the word, but several times when I've brought new clothes home he's given me "the look" - - a mix of befuddlement and horror. The first time was when I was pregnant. I'd bought a pair of maternity jeans at Target, liked them, and asked him to pick up another pair for me on the way home. He called me from the store to ask, was I really sure this was what I wanted? Yes. Really really sure? Yes! I was a little impatient. He described the jeans and I assured him that those were the ones I wanted, with the jean material legs and the nice soft stretchy tummy. When he got home and presented them to me he gave me the look and said, "Ali, those are going to look awfully weird when you tuck your shirts in." Poor guy, didn't realize that when you're pregnant you just don't tuck!
Another time I bought a pair of bright pink scrubs for work. I came out of my room and Scott gave me "the look" and said, "that's a nice outfit, very . . . pink." Later I discovered that he didn't realize I was going to work, he thought the outfit was just a regular going out on the town outfit. See what I mean?
And last week I came home with a new pair of jeans. They had a big cloth sticker on the front, a red star (which, if you looked closely, bore the words, "can you cinch an inch?"). Scott gave the jeans the look and said, "are those your Hannah Montana jeans?" Once again doubting my ability to shop for myself, he thought the sticker was part of the jeans. Good grief!