This space is for friends, family and sworn enemies to bask in and share the frustration of trying to understand our world. If it falls short of that objective you can always laugh at my futility. Hopefully we can have some laughs along the way. If we don't, it's your fault.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Taking the Time We're Given
When you're married with a kid and a full-time job, spouses have to work extra hard to find time to enjoy each other's company without something or someone (ahemm, the boy) intruding.
No earth-shattering news there, I know. However this axiom does provide reason and a rationale as to how Mrs. Blackwell and I found each other sharing the same change room at a local clothing store yesterday.
A phone call and a break in our schedules saw us both available to "do lunch" but since I'm a glutton, I'd already eaten lunch by 10:30 a.m. That said, I'd left the office bound for a walk in a nearby mall as it was raining outside. (We can revisit later the fact that, being the young, intrepid jet setter that I am, I go for walks in the mall.)
En route, Mrs. Blackwell called and informed me that there was a sale on at one of her favorite stores, which also happens to sell guys' stuff. I dislike shopping at the best of times but, when there's a sale (jeans 45% off, can you imagine!) it makes it less of a labor.
My gang. That's me in the very back.
So we met at the store with the clock already ticking. I had a meeting to attend so haste was the operative word for me. With that in mind, Mrs. Blackwell and I entered the store and then promptly separated to the boys and girls sections respectively.
In short order, I zeroed in on the jeans section. I spent a solid five minutes before locating the style I wanted (super, super skinny with rhinestones and zippers on the rear pockets, thanks for asking) and then my size.
Funny, I never feel so portly as I do when looking for new clothes (yet another strike against shopping).
Having found what I was looking for, it was off to the change room to determine if they'd fit.
On my way, I encountered Mrs. Blackwell and what can only be described as an impossibly large pile of clothes in her grasp. How she'd managed to find all this in such a short period of time was baffling.
There were jeans, five pairs in all and there were shirts, though I'm not sure how many. What else might have been in her pile, I do not know. Suffice it to say that there was plenty of it.
Amazing. To the precise degree that I dislike shopping, she loves it. She embraces every wretched element of it with a huge smile on her face. Vigor and verve!
To be clear, in the amount of time I took to grab one pair of jeans she'd found about 20 pieces to try on. As the kids say, "SMH."
Like his mom, the boy gets extremely excited to shop.
On our way to the change rooms, a savvy clerk noticed us together and asked if we'd like to share a dressing room. Well why the hell not, right?
So there we were, me with my jeans and her with that 30-lb mound of cloth. I tried on my jeans and, success! They fit. I'm done.
What follows is a situation just about every guy finds himself in every time he goes to the mall with his girlfriend or wife. Sitting, waiting and being asked for your opinion on a multitude of items.
To her credit, Mrs. Blackwell went through each item she'd gathered. She made quick calculations and deemed these pieces worthy of her time and then, article by article, she tried each and every one on, taking time to evaluate the merits and demerits of each and asking my thoughts for good measure.
She moved quickly and as she did we talked and laughed. We could have been in separate dressing rooms. For that matter, I could have been doing my best impression of a geriatric speedwalker, barreling through the mall, shooting looks at those slow young folks who don't know which lane is the speedwalking lane.
But, for a few minutes, we were together. And, life being what it is, I didn't see her again until this morning, as I was on my way out the door for work.