This past weekend, Jonathan and I enjoyed a fun night out, complete with some browsing of the stores in the Summit area. The center includes some department and specialty clothing stores. Our first stop: Belk’s.
While shopping for myself, I was made painfully aware of where I do and do not belong. I made my way through the mountains of shoes that were bumping $200 (on sale) and over to a sea of purses. Some were gorgeous, rich fall colors, crafted from sexy leather with curvy lines and classic shapes. I quickly became intoxicated by the smell, seduced by the buttery soft handbags…then I turned a price. Holy shit, $400 for a purse??!? No. Just…no.
I looked longingly through the other designer bags…Kate Spade…Michael Kors…Marc Jacobs…I do draw the line at Dooney & Bourke, though. I think those are just…eesh. All the logos remind me of high school, when the cool chicks wore Tommy Girl sweaters with the big-ass flags emblazoned across their chests, denoting, “I’m cool.” Those purses look like something Lisa Frank might vomit up after inhaling several bags of gummy bears on an all-night LSD trip.
I made my way over to the discount diva section of the store. Much more my speed. While the Brahmin bags may have wanted to take me all the way, Fossil promised me at least first base and a delicious leather scent, all while leaving my cash flow in check. I knew I was right where I should be when I noticed that some other frugal frau had left her Sam’s Choice Diet Cola can between Kim Rogers and Nine West.
Alas, I left with nothing but knowledge of men’s pants that I gleaned after watching J pick out pair after pair. Khaki, chino, flat front, pleated. They all looked the same. He might as well have been asking me, “Should I go with the pants, or the pants?”
Jonathan is lucky that I like the way he looks in pants. This relationship would’ve been over a long time ago I love to go shopping, but he wears me out. Case in point: On our first anniversary, I had made plans for us to take a little road trip to Peach Park in Clanton, AL, finally making our way down to Flea Market, Montgomery. (It’s just like, a mini-mall!!)
Our plans were delayed when J casually mentioned that he noticed a sale going on at Joseph A. Bank, and could we please stop by? Three hours and two new suits later, we managed to grab lunch and some homemade ice cream at in Clanton, returning home to make French bread pizzas and bask in the menswear afterglow. Lesson learned: boy loves some clothes. And he loves to know what you think.
One fun note about the three-piece detour: I got to flex my acting chops. While Jonathan was trying on one particularly sassy suit (for my approval, of course), the salesman kept point things out to me, using words like “seat” and “inseam” and “twill.” I moved my head this way and that, pretending to understand, until he said, “As I was telling your husband, it would be no problem to take this in a little, or let this out.” Question mark? Rolling with the punches, I said, “Yes, yes. My husband. Excellent. Great choice. Worsted wool. Wrinkle-free. Cufflinks.”
As I wanted for my “husband” to finish up, a girl waiting on her fiancé struck up a conversation with me, talking about their upcoming nuptials and pending honeymoon. “He wants to have some suits to wear on the cruise,” she relayed to me. I nodded knowingly. “Ah, yes,” I said, “I remember that.” Then I laughed, perhaps a little too loudly. Jonathan quickly caught on and beckoned me over the neckties, lest I embarrass us both.
That’ll show him to take me suit shopping again.