Well, I’m just now back from a semi-fruitful lunchtime trip to Opry Mills with only a few drops of blood hitting the keyboard as I type this. But I’ve realized I have a problem.
I’m steadily chipping away at RUABelle’s Xmas list. I’ve got every little hint she dropped in the past year squirreled away in my Treo (geek.) Most of the stuff I can handle. Stationery, check. Some household appliance gadgets, right in my wheelhouse. Stuff for the pets, who can complain? Even a nice coat, because she went as far as giving me the item number at JCrew.
But I’ve hit a brick wall with the silk blouse thing. RUABelle has a very nice sense of style-preppy and conservative, but very classy. I would wear Hawaiian shirts and blue jeans every day if it were up to me. And I did before I met her. Yet, still she loves me. What do they say? Men love women hoping they’ll never change. Women love men hoping they can change them.
So anyway, first of all I’m stymied by what size she is. I won’t put her measurements or numbers on the internet, but she’s about so tall and yea big around. Does that help? I once asked her size and she told me, “I’m a petite large.”
Let’s let that sink in a moment.
Petite large. Petite. Large.
What the hell?! Apparently, I’m in love with a jumbo shrimp.
Then there’s the style and color issues. I wandered around the women’s departments of several stores, being careful not to linger in the lingerie. I even went as far as to select a few blouses off the racks and begin to walk toward the check out, only to hold the hanger up and think, “Yeah, this would look really nice…on a hooker.” Maybe I should be shopping for Toys for Tarts.
So I’m lost, friends. I need the help of someone from the distaff side. I’m willing to take internet shopping advice or the services of a personal shopper. What’s in it for you? Lunch at the food court restaurant of your choice at any mall in the greater metropolitan Nashville area and the opportunity to watch a guy whose generally thought of as a fairly together dude look absolutely clueless for thirty minutes while you drag him helplessly through a store.