I love my husband. At times I even adore him. I love how he backs me up with the children (mostly), how he puts himself last in needs (mostly), and how he works his ass off for his family. I love his intelligence, his sense of humor (except for the poop thing, that’s just not funny), and most importantly I love that he sees me as an equal. I, however, hate shopping with him.
I don’t like shopping period. I don’t hate going to the store or even the mall. I hate having to look around at things and hem and haw over whether I should buy them or not. I go in like a Seal Team 6 mission. I know what I need, I get it, I get out. My husband approaches shopping like most people do about buying a house. He has to look, he has to look again, he has to look some more and than maybe, he will pick up the item and then put it back down. Rinse and repeat.
It drives me bonkers. He also will not buy something if it is not exactly what he wants. I have stacks of shirts and pants in my closet that I bought because I liked it, it didn’t look right or fit, and there it sits. He has shirts from high school that make him look like an extra on the Walking Dead that he won’t get rid of. Because he likes it.
In full disclosure, I still go shopping with him. I don’t know why. Both of us are aggravated and would rather stick hot pokers in our eyes than do it yet there we are. Saturday morning at the local all-you-could-ever want store. Let’s call it I Hate Walmart.
We start off fine. He lounges around the house for 2 hours talking about how he needs to pick up something. Finally, he has built up enough momentum to leave the house. Cool, I need groceries. It will be nice to go shopping together. (Dumb, dumb idea.) We spend an hour in the lawn and garden section looking at every mower known to man. Discussion about he needs a professional quality zero turn mower with a 60 inch deck and bluetooth and a cooler to mow a yard that the boys cut. I chime in with the fact that the boys can accomplish all of that by attaching the two push mowers we have to their bicycles. Problem solved. S.O. does not appreciate my humor.
We move on to the tool section. Again, he has to not only look at but explain in detail how he needs a drill to match the other 4 he has at home. Also, how it would be nice to have every tool ever made by Craftsman or Snap-On or whatever other business exists to drain money from a man’s wallet. Another hour has gone by with nothing put into the cart.
At this point I have reached my saturation point. I try to gently introduce the idea of him looking at this stuff by himself while I get important things like, I don’t know, food. Nope, that’s not happening. Now he is all huffy and “I should just go by myself next time. Hurry up so we can get out of here.” I am truly sorry that I did not know you needed an audience to your window shopping (although this does explain why #6 has to have an audience, even to poop). So now I rush in 15 minutes to get groceries and totally forget to grab my grocery list because I have been shredding it into little pieces of paper ever since Lawn and Garden. Sorry kitty boys, not cat food today.
Yep, you would think that I would not ever go shopping with him again. But it is just like with the kids: I develop a mental block of how irritating it is to take them out in public and continue to do so.
So, wish me luck. Today is Saturday. And we have to go to the store.