Evil, Evil Banana Republic

Yes, Banana Republic is Satan’s tool.
There is no end to my pain.
Even my second home (the mall) has been turned against me.
The smells, the sights, the sensory overload that is the Mall.
I love the mall.
I hate the mall.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
It has been coming on for a long time. It all began right after our first “budget meeting.”
“Okay, we’re married now. We both make $8 an hour. Here is what is left after we pay the bills. Four dollars. You cannot go to Banana after work and check out the sale rack.”
“But. . . but. . . but. . ”
“Princess, you cannot do it.”
“But. . . you promised I would always have my Clinique. . .”
“That’s makeup. This is a new skirt every three days. There’s a difference.”
“But. . .”
“I love you”
“Me too, but. . .”
What was I supposed to do? I worked at Williams Sonoma for Pete’s sake! Like I could NOT shop on my breaks? Like I could NOT run down there when a customer came in and showed me the amazing deals they just found?
Don’t even mention Ann Taylor!

But I have a new problem with the mall.

Last night the kidlets and I picked up Daddy from the airport. It’s no small feat to drive to the airport. My car was in the shop because of some idiot who backed into it in (the mall) parking lot and drove off. So- we all piled into Daddy’s truck and drove him 80 miles to the airport. I don’t mind so much because it gets me out of this town and I can shop.

Husband had ordered some stuff online and needed to return it so when we picked him up at the end of his trip last night we went to the mall. I took the stroller and planned to entertain the kids so he could shop a bit- since he has shrunk out of all of his “presentation worthy” clothing.
We go into the store and look around- thirty seconds is about all we get out of the kids so I took them out. We came back in a while later to find him in the dressing room. I come around the corner, and he’s standing there all sexy-fied in this striped dress shirt and trousers. The sales guy has apparently got Husband on a hook.
Husband dresses quite nicely. When he is allowed to shop, he dresses QUITE nicely. He’s the typical gay guy. Great dresser, neat, fit, great smile, etc. . . No you cannot have his phone number.

So I see him looking all fabulous and I immediately think, “what is he doing in this life with me, this frumpy tee-shirt GIRL?”
Then sales guy comes in and proceeds to tie a tie onto Husband.
***Now- if any of you read Scrum, a few weeks ago he had a pic of a man tying another man’s tie. Husband commented on how hot that was.***
Husband ties his own ties. And he is very proud of how well he ties his ties. He is letting this man tie his tie for him.
Here I am- all nasty from a day at the elementary school fundraiser and driving in the car, filthy out of control kids wreaking havoc on the store, and Husband is getting his groove on with this RETAIL WORKER in the middle of the dressing room!
I wanted to vomit.
I’m sure Husband didn’t catch on to any of this. This is just my greatest fears and insecurities being thrown into my face and played in front of an audience.
I said “oh honey, you’ve got NO dress clothes that fit anymore- just get it all.” That should buy me some points, right?

All I can say is, I underestimate my Husband.
He is a good man.
He loves me.
He loves our kids.
He loves our life.
He is (mostly) happy.
He isn’t going to chuck all of that out the window for some RETAIL worker with a bad argyle sweater.
I’ve got to stop raking the man over the coals for my own fears. Even if those fears are realized, I’m the one who has to deal with it. I’ve got to unearth the strength and light that lies within me to be happy. I’ve got to stop turning the glorious fantastic wonderland that is the Mall into the root of my demise. Give the poor mall a break too!
And, even in my filthiness, I’m still pretty cute.