I may have mentioned previously that my dear and gracious husband went shopping with me this week in pursuit of a new interview suit. The one I had in the closet was a bit on the shabby side and kind of thrown together you know, two blacks (of different shades) dont always make a right. We embarked on a slightly time-crunched outing as my interview was taking place at 8:15 the next morning. We headed to International Mall and the search was on.
I will say this first just to put it out there: I love my husband, I really, really, do. He is one of the few straight men I know of who loves to shop. The frustration lies in our differences in taste. Sometimes we can agree on many of the items I pick out; however, most of the time he picks out something black, lacy and extremely skin-tight and as we all know, I am no size 0, or 8, or even 12 for that matter. This is generally how it goes: You look great! he says as Im gaping at the nightmare reflecting back at me in the mirror. Really, which part of me would that be? My high foot arches or my earlobes? Because this is doing absolutely nothing for the rest of my body."