It is a fact universally acknowledged that husbands—not men, mind you, but husbands, who must hold purses and sit in designated creepy chairs or husband playpens—hate shopping.
Husband contends that the actual issue is that he sees no reason to shop, ever; I shop, he claims, while he buys things.
But, whatever the reason—and I’m sure we can agree it can’t possibly be anything to do with my sunny self—I’ve begun to suspect he’s particularly reluctant to shop with me.
I know, right? But here, have a look at this. We were buying containers at Target—among the many problems I have in this house, there’s an appalling lack of native storage.
ME: (pointing) I need one of these and one of these and one of those.
HIM: So you’re complicating the shit out of everything. Got it. I’m gonna go get a cart.
ME: (considers) Also, I decided I need two of these!
(enter: a new couple, also come to debate containers. They are FASCINATING)
SHE: We could get one of these, or a couple of those…
HE: Nah, we just need this.
SHE: You think?
ME: (observes silently, says nothing about the return trip they’re going to have to make)
HIM: (returns with cart)
ME: Look! I stacked them for you!
HIM: Uh huh. So what are these for?
ME: This one is for the shoes that still need to be repaired but aren’t urgent or anything. This one is for purses. This one is for tote bags. And this one—
HIM: Why do we need wheels?
ME: So it can slide out, duh.
HIM: You know this won’t fit under our bed, right?
ME: Why would you say that?!
HIM: … Because it won’t?
ME: Why would you think it won’t?
HIM: Beeecause… of our bed?
HIM: We can get it. And if I’m wrong…
HIM: I’ll… be really happy that I was proven wrong.
ME: Then we’ll both be happy.
HIM: (turns to leave)
ME: Why do I get the feeling only one of us is going to be happy? Because maybe you SECRETLY WANT TO BE RIGHT?
HIM: (keeps going)
ME: (to other woman) Never let him stifle your dreams!
They got in our checkout line too. He is NOT a fan of my work.
Now that I think it through, maybe it’s not shopping with me Husband dislikes. Maybe it’s shopping with me in public. Which, I mean… yeah. Shopping is done in public. Unless you know the secrets of online shopping, which aren’t secret but must be because otherwise why are stores so crowded when the option to do the same thing but in your underwear is totally a thing?
Anyway, maybe he’s just tired of dealing with the looks from other husbands who (foolishly! This awesome cannot be contained!) expect him to exert more or better control over me. Like this one time, I think it was last weekend, when we were leaving Costco. It was—as I’ve mentioned recently—hotter than Satan’s own curry and the humidemies were ravenous.
ME: (pushing cart) (stops) Oh my god, it’s too hot I can’t it’s like a billion degrees I can’t even move. No. I can’t. Go on without me. Save yourself. Tell my story!
HIM: (grabs cart) Honey, you’re blocking people.
STRANGE WOMAN: (nods at my hysterics in perfect understanding)
STRANGE HUSBAND: (looks at Husband in discreet sympathy)
ME: (following now) This is how I DIE. Also, I think we parked over there. (points)
HIM: (reaches back to keep me on-course) No, we didn’t. I’m a man. I push the cart and remember where we parked.