It wasn't so bad after all. Shopping, I mean. It turned out to be nearly enjoyable. I place the credit for that easy experience squarely on the shoulders of the salesman at The Mens Wearhouse where Mary dragged me kicking and screaming.
This is not a commercial for The Men's Wearhouse (I'm sure you've seen their tv commercials), but I have to commend them for the quallity of the service I received from them on Saturday. The salesman who helped us was a congenial, well spoken and knowledgeable young man who didn't make me feel stupid, even though when it comes to dressier men's clothing, idiot fairly describes me. He quickly learned what we were looking for by listening to Mary while I stood there and nodded occasioinally. To his credit he immediately realized that she was calling the shots and I was just there to serve as a mannequin for the stufff he gave us to try on. He didn't try to lead us to what he wanted, but listened and gave us what she wanted. Good salemanship.
For me the worst part about clothes shopping is the trying on part. It is just so tedious. And I confess to having some difficulty at times with buttons and shoelaces, so I need Mary to be in the fitting room with me to help out. I won't hold it against her that she found it exceptionally hilalrioius at one point when, while trying to get a shirt on, my pants fell down and gathered around my ankles. Ok, it looked funny, and I laughed too, but I wasn't there to made fun of. Shopping is supposed to be serious busuness. Our raucous behavior must have sent a signal throughout the store, because when I came out of the fitting room to show off my new duds there were three other salesmen who wanted to join in the fun. Man did we get the good service then.
The result of all that fun and games was a very spiffy new me. I came away from there looking fantastic. I mean I looked gooooood. For about $250 I was transformed into someone my children won't recognize. Even the dog might have some issues with me when she sees me all decked out. Now I just have to get Mary to take me out in public sometime so I can wear the emperor's new clothes at least one time before the wedding in August. You know, to break em in a bit. I need the practice wearing dress clothes. Gotta remember not to wipe my nose on the jacket sleeves or wipe my shoes on the back of my pants leg. Damn there is so much to remember. Looking good ain't easy, but with a little practice I might just turn out alright.