The Emperor's New Clothes

Queen Elizabeth the First took a bath once a year...
whether she needed it or not!

It's the same sort of thing with The Man. Once a decade he goes clothes shopping...
whether he needs it or not!

If you could only see what I see. Oh, the horrors! Somewhere in there
he still has the beige western jeans that he wore on the day we got married
almost thirty years ago! And, don't even talk to me about "Ol' Greenie" the Shirt!

Yes, he names his clothes.

Anyway, today seemed like a good day to attack the shopping beast.
But, just to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible, I first suggested
we go get a bite to eat at Bob Evan's. We like to go there and sit at the counter
and watch all the dishes of food go by. We just sit there ooooing and ahhhing
and pointing at things and saying stuff like, "Oooo, what's that? I don't know,
but look at that! Chicken Pot Pie! Yeah, but look at those mashed potatoes
and gravy! Oh look, cherry blintzes! Mmmmm." We don't actually drool but
we do hyper-salivate. It's kind of disgusting. You'd think the waitresses would
mind but they don't, and they're more than willing to correct us when we guess
an item incorrectly. I have to say that Bob really knows how to put on a show
for the hungry and depressed plebeians of America.

After fueling up, The Man and I went shopping. No, let me rephrase that because
it's slightly misleading. I took The Man shopping to buy things for The Man. I didn't
get to shop at all. I had to stay completely focused throughout the entire ordeal
because The Man absolutely detests shopping of any kind. On an Enjoyment Scale,
he would put shopping somewhere between having a wisdom tooth extraction and
a prostate exam.

So, here's how it went down:

I drove him to the mall; walked him into the correct department store - I picked
J.C.Penney because I knew he would have latent memories of the Penney's smell
and he'd feel safe; I picked up and carried the items for him to try on (although
he did actually poke his finger on one shirt and said he would like that - but he
never actually held it in his hands - he just poked it); I made him locate the dressing
room all by himself; I fetched, folded and returned, fetched, folded and returned,
fetched, folded and returned pair after pair of blue jeans, narrowing it down slowly,
while The Man waited in the dressing room...he just sat in there and waited...he sat
there in his underwear waiting for me to return with the next pair of jeans for
Himself to try on, after which he would hurl the rejects out the door of the dressing
room for me to catch, fold and return to the racks.

Yeah, I know. It wasn't really shopping, it was more like a fitting for His Mightiness
The King. I, on the other hand, had turned into some harried, miserable scullery
maid scurrying around uttering things like, "Yes, m'Lord." "Oh, righty-o, Yer
Worshipfo'ness" and "Watch out fer them bloomin' straight pins, Yer Bleedin' 'ighness!

Do you have any idea how much I would PAY to have someone do this for ME?!
I mean, when I think of all the hours I have spent shopping ALONE, dragging
armload after armload of clothes into dressing rooms, stripping, trying on,
re-dressing and returning over and over ad nauseam until I'm faint and sweaty,
my hands are black with coat hanger dirt and my hair's sticking straight out from
the polyester electrical shock!

When I leave the store I look like I've been struck by lightening!

But, not The Man. No sirree! As I paid the cashier (Yes, I had to do that part, too),
I looked at him and he looked pretty good. He wasn't perky, but he looked fairly fresh.
He was even standing up straight. Usually, even before we walk through a department
store doorway, The Man assumes the "back slash" position, he starts leaning back
attempting to remain as far away as possible for as long as possible from the actual act
of shopping. I'm not joking. His feet usually end up a good 12 inches ahead of his face.
And, these little retractable nails extend out from the heels of his shoes and dig into
the floor making groove marks in the linoleum. It's embarrassing.

All in all it was a successful day.

I think The Man was very pleased. I would ask him but I don't want to interrupt.
He's upstairs introducing his new articles of clothing to Ol' Greenie. After that, he'll
hide away his old, worn-out, filthy, stained, ripped and moldy jeans, assuring them
that "I'll never let her find you. I'll never let her take you away from me. Don't you
worry Jeanies. You just rest right here, in the bottom drawer, way back in the dark.