What was I Thinking?

Today, my wife asked me to go shopping with her. I’m sure it was a courtesy ask, thinking I’d say no. But heck, there were no football games to watch. It was a gazillion degrees outside. So, why not, I said to myself, picturing the husband of the year award I surely would earn by going.

What was I thinking?

We headed to the premier mall in the metroplex. This mall has 1.6 million square feet and 200 shops. I’m thinking she made an excellent choice of locations to shop. 

What was I thinking?

Preparing myself to enter the mega glamour arena of strollers, teenagers, and Botox queens, I asked where we would start our hunt?

“What if we eat lunch at Gloria’s before we shop?” she asks.

Of course, we must go eat before we shop!

What was I thinking?

During lunch, I asked, “what specifically are you shopping for?” 

“I need some new tops for Fall,” she replies.

Now, when I shop for tops, which is rare and last minute, I first choose my store. Then I go straight to the clearance rack. Fifteen minutes later I’m headed home, fresh with a half dozen shirts. So, who could blame me for thinking we would follow a similar pattern?

 What was I thinking?

She informed me we would shop two mega stores inside the mega mall, about a mile apart, on the opposite ends of the mega.

After parking the car where instructed, we entered the first hunting territory. With the top shop being our destination, I noticed we started chasing a rabbit. The rabbit took us through the shoe department. Next, we went through handbags. And the definition of “through” means we picked up a dozen or so items, always commenting on how cute they were.

“I thought we were shopping for tops,” I foolishly remarked.

Just be patient, she said. We will get there. Besides, tops are upstairs.

What was I thinking?

Once we finally got to the tops, I made the mistake of all male mistakes. I had the guts to suggest a top I liked. 

“Oooh, I like this top. Honey, would you wear this?” I said in my most sincere, fashionista voice.

“Yes, I would wear it around the house,” she states dryly, trying desperately to keep from rolling her eyes in front of me.

What was I thinking?

After stalking most top racks in mega store one, we went to mega store two. Little did I know, I was about to learn a major lesson in female shopping.

At mega number two, having not learned my lesson in mega one, I had the audacity to take three shirts to her in the fitting room. After a courtesy try on, she promptly returned the shirts to the racks.

Next, the lesson began. See the older lady shopping in that top area. That is the customer who buys that brand. (She wasn’t that much older than us, but I wasn’t about to get tangled up in technicalities).

So now it becomes clear. It has nothing to do with the look or the style of the clothing. It has everything to do with the look of the person who buys that brand.

Well at least I now know the rules. Or do I?

She promptly decides we will just go home.

Sensing the air deflating out of her balloon, as she tried on top after top, I made a suggestion.

“No, let’s walk down the mall. Surely, we can find something there,” words I cannot believe came out of my mouth.

 What was I thinking?

The mall proved to be a melting pot of mish-mash junk, or so she told me.

“I want to go to cool store one and cool store two,” she declares.

“Where are they located?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s only about twenty miles from here.”

“But this mall has 1.6 million square feet and 200 stores,” I loudly said to myself.

“Sure, honey, nothing but the best for you.”

 What was I thinking?

Twenty miles later, we walk into cool store number one.

Oooh, this store smells so good, I was informed.

“I always love shopping in here. Aren’t the people so nice?” she asks as top after top gets collected in her arms.

I noticed the age of this customer was considerably, let’s just say “younger.” But that is who buys that brand, I remind myself.

Cool store number two smells good also. And the music was good. Top after top gets selected.

I make a mental note to only shop smell good stores in the future with my wife. Upon further reflection, I remind myself to make sure there were no future husband and wife shopping trips.

“Are you Ron? sales lady in cool store number two asks, waking me from my male daydream of wishing I was watching paint dry somewhere.

“How did you know?” I ask, as no other male was within two miles of that store.

“Your wife wants you to come to the fitting room,” sales lady states.

Now she wants my opinion. Or does she?

Five hours later, we head home. I have a happy wife. She has her Fall tops. I just won the husband of the year award.

And I thought we could do this in fifteen minutes.

What was I thinking?

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