"How many do you have?" the fitting room clerk asked without looking up. A tattered issue of Cosmo, turned to an article titled "How To Please Your Man Even If You Don't Have All Your Teeth Or Fingers", was clearly far too interesting for her to bother to be polite.
"Uh... Three," I reply, holding out the articles of clothing I had with me. It was not my intention to try on clothes during this shopping expedition, but I was perhaps more than gently coerced into doing so by my wife. There was a slight chance that she was right by insisting that I don't know what size I am, since I hadn't gone shopping for clothes in quite a while.
Standing at the rack of Levi's, I had quickly picked out a pair of jeans that were the same size as the last ones I bought, confident that my size hadn't changed at all. My wife, sighing heavily, selected two other pairs in two different sizes and tossed them at me.
"Go try these on."
"I don't need to try them on. I know what size I am," I said, holding out the first pair for her to see.
"How long has it been since you bought jeans? Two years?" she asked, her eyes glowing. I was beginning to sense that I had no choice in the matter. "Go try them on."
I remained still for a moment, considering defiance.
"Go. NOW," my wife said, her tone effectively punctuating the end of the conversation.
The clerk placed a placard with a large black "3" on the handle to one of the rooms, and waved me over. I stepped inside the closet-sized room, closed the door tightly behind me, and took off my shoes. Could they make these rooms any smaller? I marveled to myself. I've seen shoe boxes bigger than this. Confident that the pair of jeans I picked out would fit just fine, I selected them to try on first. I took off my pants.
Left leg first, then the right. The paper tag stapled on the back of the jeans scraped against my calves as I pulled them up. Everything was pointing towards a good fit, and a smug grin began to creep across my face. I was even beginning to plan out what I'd say in victory to my wife when I suddenly realized I couldn't pull the jeans up past mid-thigh.
I pulled up again, harder. They wouldn't budge.
Shit.
She was right. I was a different size than I thought I was. To make matters worse, both pair that she picked out fit me perfectly. The smile disappeared quickly from my face. I solemnly changed back into my pants, and put on my shoes. Out of the three pairs of jeans, I picked the one that fit the best, and left the fitting room.
Immediately outside the fitting room area stood my wife, waiting patiently.
"How'd they fit?" she asked, the edges of her lips turned up in a slight knowing smile.
"They fit alright. I think this pair will do." I dropped the rejected pairs of jeans on the counter, the gust of air causing the pages of the clerk's magazine to flutter. The clerk sighed in annoyance and rolled her eyes.
"Which one is that?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Oh. One of the pair that I picked out. Good."
"Yeah," I stuttered. "The pair that I picked out didn't look right. They were kinda bunchy in the crotch."
"Mmm-hmm. Okay."
She flashed a smile at me again, took the jeans and placed them in the cart.
"Come on. We've got other shopping to do."
It occurred to me then, as I followed my wife around the store. Despite the fact that I tried them on and that they fit me fairly well, I am clearly not the one who wears the pants in my relationship with my wife.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
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12 Comments:
You wear the pants. She just picks them out for you. :)
Dude, this is a classic trap! You NEVER try on the clothes. I would rather be wrong about the clothes that I pick out than give into my wife's nagging about the dressing room.
Even if you buy the clothes without trying them on and have to come back the next day to return everything and exchange it for the clothes she picked out in the first place, I do it. Because I'm a man. And an idiot.
And I really hate how the women folk usually turn out to be right.
Ugh- I HATE trying on clothes. And the lighting in those dressing rooms??? Forget about it- I look like a clammy ghost. It's torture.
Bwahahahaha!
I remember the first time I had to steer Daver into new jeans.
Bwahahaha!
He's learned just to let me pick them out for him.
The deal between my husband and I...he shops for his own clothes, I don't go with. He shops with me for my clothes, so he can carry the bags. Seems to be working out just fine.
Miss Grace: I suppose you're right. It just doesn't feel like it.
Daddy Files: I didn't realize it was a trap until it was too late. If I was shopping by myself, I definately wouldn't have tried anything on. And for the record, The Boss is always right, even if she's wrong.
Jen W: It's either that, or the doors never close fully, making me think someone's going to barge in just as I'm caught with my pants down.
Aunt Becky: It's better for all those involved that way, I suppose.
Employee No 3699: That seems mostly fair... Except for the carrying of the bags part. =)
Man! You're learning fast!
Just give in graciously - you know she knows best. It's not worth putting up any resistance.
BTW I'm not sure when it will happen, but I'm shortly moving to a Wordpress.com blog. So don't worry if you can't find me - I have your details so you can't get rid of me yet.
I'll email you my new link details.
I never try anything on at the store, unless I'm far from home. I've been fooled into thinking things look great at the store, only to find out in reality it's a disaster.
I do, however, have some idea of what size I am ;)
I make Big K try on EVERYTHING. And I'm always right. It's just the way it is!
Of course you wear the pants. She just tells you which ones, how to put them on, when to take them off, and not to play with what's inside them. This is all very normal.
Scatterbrain: Oh, I know better than to put up a fight. I prefer all my limbs attached.
Lola: I know what size I am now, thanks to her.
Cape Cod Gal: I knew you were always right... I'm just refusing to admit The Boss is.
Pamela: So long as she doesn't tell me which leg to put through first, I think I'll survive.
LOL Very funny. I remember when my husband had to be convinced he was a bigger size too. Here's a clue - if you are buttoning your pants BELOW your belly and have a huge hangover, they are too small. I hate shopping, and wear nothing but tshirts and jeans/shorts anyway, so I buy my jeans at Wally world and my tshirts online.
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