Personal Shopper
Photo (C) 2008 Photonburst.
This is us at Laura’s perfect wedding. This is me in a dress that I loved. This is Peter thinking, “oh shit – now I have to shop with her ALL the time.”
HE chose the dress. The three that I chose? All no go. The wedding was at 6:30pm, that dress became mine at 5:00pm. I think this is what happens when you don’t have children in tow, you can have thoughts that don’t revolve around snacks and puddles and rocks and touching things. Well, I did think about touching things … like my new dress.
We took complete advantage of attending a grown-up event, going so far as to get an overnight babysitter. We started our 20 hours sans children by going to Denver, checking into the magnificent Magnolia and then having a late, small lunch in LoDo.
As we headed back to our hotel I decided I needed something different to wear to the wedding. The three choices I had brought were insufficient. We stopped in Dress Barn (and yes the name of the store is unfortunate, but it is what it is), I found a few things to try on and we headed into the first changing stall. After trying a few things a sales lady rapped on the door and told Peter he had to leave the stall. No inappropriate noises were coming from the stall. And, I purposely chose the first one, the one that was nearly in the store so it would be clear we weren’t being inappropriate. Nevertheless, they have a “policy” against men in dressing rooms or so we were told as we left with our hands empty. My biggest question is, what about transvestites? This part of Denver is ripe shopping ground for men that like women’s clothing. The Payless Shoesource next door is the only place that I know that carries a wide variety of size 11 womens dress shoes.
We walked across the street to Ross where Peter found the perfect party dress. I tried not to think about how much I wished I had Purell with me at that moment. The store is a little skeevy. Although, every time I go in there I find something fantastic. Or in this case Peter finds something fantastic.
I knew he wasn’t just being nice when a stranger on the mall shuttle (a little bus that runs the length of 16th Street) complimented me on the dress. I think it all came together with the shoes he bought me for Mother’s Day.
Maybe I can make a few extra bucks pimping out my metrosexual husband as a personal shopper?
