What can I say? I married romance.
But y’all don’t even KNOW how huge this was! Kellan and I have never done well shopping together. It makes us want to kill each other slowly, so we can enjoy it. I understand that this isn’t exactly normal–I have a friend whose husband hasn’t set foot in a store since the day they got married because not his problem anymore. He’s perfectly content to let her pick out everything in his closet, and she’s just thrilled to have her very own Ken doll without the ambiguous sexuality or the corvette.
That is not my marriage.
If you and your spouse love shopping together, more power to you, but I am here to tell you that the first time I went clothes shopping with Kellan looked something like the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan. And we were shopping for HIM. After an hour and a half of sitting under fluorescent lighting in the Banana Republic dressing room while he took half that time to try on a plain white t-shirt and the other half to debate the pros and cons of said forgettable clothing item, I wanted to run outside and scream forever. Every opinion that I offered came off as somehow insulting or patronizing, and Kellan was not having it. For all of the tea in China, I could NOT understand why he didn’t want to take advantage of the fount of fashion wisdom that was at his disposal! Y’all, I swear we were one ill-fitting sweater away from winding up on the Jerry Springer show. Just, whatever. If you want to walk around the planet looking like an uncooked chicken leg, FINE BY ME.
[And while I am fairly certain that we have never been shopping for me before, I think we can all safely assume that Kellan would never offer me any sort of potentially inflammatory opinion. Because let’s be honest, the man hates sleeping on the couch.]
We don’t shop together. We just don’t. On the list of things that I enjoy, that one falls miles behind scraping my gums with an ice pick and getting a colonoscopy. In fact, if unforeseen circumstances land us in a clothing store at the same time and Kellan holds up so much as a tie clip to ask what I think, I have learned to RUN. Please. I know that trick. You can wander into your office wearing nothing but an inflatable seahorse around your waist and a smile and YOU WILL HAVE MY WHOLEHEARTED SUPPORT.
But NOW. I was not only being asked for my opinion, but I was being trusted to pick something out all by myself! The very idea made me positively giddy with excitement. One small step for man, one giant leap for my marriage! No longer would I have to suffer the insulting tyranny of timidly offering, “What about this one?” only to be met by a baffled stare, as though I were suggesting a full-body wax. I didn’t know what scent I’d end up picking but I knew whatever it was, it already smelled intoxicatingly like pure, unadulterated FREEDOM. If I did this right, who knew what might be next! One day, Kellan might promote me to socks! UNDERWEAR! And if I played my cards right, I might land myself on the thirty year track to be picking out JEANS!
I took my mission embarrassingly seriously.
After fifteen minutes spent sniffing every scent Old Spice had to offer like some sort of deranged junkie, I confidently selected “After Hours”. Because HELLO SAILOR.
To the good people at Old Spice: I love you forever. You have given me hope. Thank you.
Also, I just love your commercials.