Never go clothes shopping with a man.
I don’t know about you but whenever I have been shopping for clothes with my husband it has been anexcruciating experience. Within 20 minutes of arriving at the shopping mall, he is fidgeting, checking his phone, complaining that he is hungry and thirsty and asking when we can leave. The whole experience always ends in tears, his not mine.
So I hear you ask, “why drag him clothes shopping?” The poor man doesn’t deserve this. After all, we all know the difference between how men and women shop.
I completely agree with you. Personally, I prefer to go clothes shopping on my own. In fact, I love that time to myself when I can walk into all the different shops that catch my eye,browse through the clothes racks, spend half an hour to forty-five minutes deciding on the colour of a pair of jeans (that’s before I even decide to go to the fitting room to try them on!), browse through the jewellery shops dreaming of the time when my husband will finally buy me something shiny for my birthday. You get the picture, right?
I must point out that I do this sort of shopping once every six months so I don’t feel guilty wasting all that time.
However going back to the original question of why drag a man clothes shopping, why would anyone do it? Well, I agree but I get this behaviour when we are out shopping for HIM not me!!! What is that all about?!
This is what I have to do when we need to get some clothes for my husband.
I give him two to three days’ warning that we will be hitting the shops. Before that I list all the items he needs, for example, a new pair of work shoes, some new long-sleeved shirts, a couple of pairs of trousers, some casual tops, a couple of jumpers/sweaters.This creates the sense of urgency in his mind, especially if I have given his old clothes away to charity and he can see an empty wardrobe.
We then set off for the shopping mall. He normally gives me a “20-minute window” in which I can choose various items for him based on size (medium), colour, style and send him off to the changing rooms. He does have a say in what he wants so he will agree or disagree with me – very annoying, indeed!
Whilst he is in the fitting room, I act as his helper (slave) by running back and forth to change items for different sizes (small, large, extra large, etc) and as his style guru by giving him my opinion about how he looks.
After 20 minutes, he literally shuts down like a robot, so an emergency coffee and croissant (or bacon roll) break is urgently required to re-energise the batteries. Once he is fully charged we can return to the serious job of clothes shopping where once again, I am given a 20-minute window in which to select the next item of clothing, shoes or accessory (belts, hats or scarves). And so it goes on.
At the end of this exhausting 2-hour trip, I normally reward myself with a glass of Prosecco no matter what time of day it is. After all, I deserve it, don’t I? Of course, my husband (hubby) also deserves a treat after all that hard work. His treat? Another year before he has to repeat this experience.
What is your experience with clothes shopping? I’d love to know from both a male and female perspective.
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Ciao for now and happy shopping!
“Una sera d’inverno, appena rincasato, mia madre accorgendosi che avevo freddo, mi propose di prendere, contro la mia abitudine, un po’ di tè. Dapprima rifiutai, poi, non so perché, mutai parere. Mandò a prendere uno di quei dolci corti e paffuti, chiamati madeleine, che sembrano lo stampo della valva scanalata di una conchiglia di San Giacomo. E poco dopo, sentendomi triste per la giornata cupa e la prospettiva di un domani doloroso, portai macchinalmente alle labbra un cucchiaino del tè nel quale avevo lasciato inzuppare un pezzetto della madeleine. Ma appena la sorsata mescolata alle briciole del pasticcino toccò il mio palato, trasalii, attento al fenomeno straordinario che si svolgeva in me. Un delizioso piacere m’aveva invaso, isolato, senza nozione di causa. E subito, m’aveva reso indifferenti le vicissitudini, inoffensivi i rovesci, illusoria la brevità della vita…non mi sentivo più mediocre, contingente, mortale. Da dove m’era potuta venire quella…
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