Even before I got married, I experienced the uneasy feeling of being brought into stores that I would never go into; were it not for my significant other. One of these stores is called, Ann Taylor. It is a clothing store for women. There is absolutely nothing in the store that could possibly interest a man, except perhaps the women themselves. Unless, of course, perhaps if the man was gay and/or loved fashion and accessories.
Any visit to such a store is filled with uneasiness for a typical man. No single guy (unless shopping for a gift for a woman) would ever come to such a place. The female employees there are not going to find any dates if they’re single, as only attached men could be pulled into such a place.
I have been led by the hand by my petite wife into such places before. While she may be small, her power over me is great enough that I resist the temptation to flee for the nearest man-type store. Obediently, I follow as she looks through the racks of overpriced crap. Without fail, a female employee will greet us, ask if she can help and then let us know about the “great discounts” currently going on.
As I wait to see if we can maneuver toward the exit, I am dismayed that we travel further into the reaches of this strange environment. Then I see it, the “men’s couch.” It sits forlorn, near to the entrance of the dressing rooms. I see the couch is occupied by another man. I stop and say, “OK, move over.” He slides down and I drop to the plain brown couch and settle in to wasting precious moments of my life.
Inevitably, I begin a conversation with the other “poor bastard” sitting next to me. We usually find some humor in our predicament, though there are literally millions of places that I would rather be.
Our wives appear intermittently to ask what we think of some article of clothing. What can we say? No answer will ever be correct in this scenario. Why does it have to cost so much? I like to buy off the sale rack at Walmart or Target, so how can I “like” a $56 shirt, even if it is 15% off? My wife does not seem to understand how sexy I think she is in jeans and the jean jacket I bought her (for appropriate outdoor apparel).
Eventually, my wife comes to my rescue and leads me by the hand back out of the confines of Ann Taylor. So far, the other guy, whoever he is that day, never gets to leave before me. I briefly lament his misfortune, as I breathe in the air on the “outside.”
KJC
Any visit to such a store is filled with uneasiness for a typical man. No single guy (unless shopping for a gift for a woman) would ever come to such a place. The female employees there are not going to find any dates if they’re single, as only attached men could be pulled into such a place.
I have been led by the hand by my petite wife into such places before. While she may be small, her power over me is great enough that I resist the temptation to flee for the nearest man-type store. Obediently, I follow as she looks through the racks of overpriced crap. Without fail, a female employee will greet us, ask if she can help and then let us know about the “great discounts” currently going on.
As I wait to see if we can maneuver toward the exit, I am dismayed that we travel further into the reaches of this strange environment. Then I see it, the “men’s couch.” It sits forlorn, near to the entrance of the dressing rooms. I see the couch is occupied by another man. I stop and say, “OK, move over.” He slides down and I drop to the plain brown couch and settle in to wasting precious moments of my life.
Inevitably, I begin a conversation with the other “poor bastard” sitting next to me. We usually find some humor in our predicament, though there are literally millions of places that I would rather be.
Our wives appear intermittently to ask what we think of some article of clothing. What can we say? No answer will ever be correct in this scenario. Why does it have to cost so much? I like to buy off the sale rack at Walmart or Target, so how can I “like” a $56 shirt, even if it is 15% off? My wife does not seem to understand how sexy I think she is in jeans and the jean jacket I bought her (for appropriate outdoor apparel).
Eventually, my wife comes to my rescue and leads me by the hand back out of the confines of Ann Taylor. So far, the other guy, whoever he is that day, never gets to leave before me. I briefly lament his misfortune, as I breathe in the air on the “outside.”
KJC
Comments