Tuesday, June 16, 2009


Every husband from time to time must serve his wife in manners which he is not fitted to actually do. Yesterday was one such time as I assisted my beloved in finding the Holy Grail. And by Holy Grail I mean 'the perfect swimsuit'. If the gov't has to give up waterboarding, they should seriously consider making the detainees help women find swimsuits. I know, at first glance, that seems like a job they might actually enjoy. But once they are past the first ten minutes, any thought of pleasure will be far out of mind and the endurance sport of trying to keep your eyes from crossing as you stand amidst a sea of ladies’ swimming garments being picked over by women you in no way would want to imagine wearing anything other than burkas.

The dungeon where this occurred has three floor racks, each with four racks: two on one side and two on the other.

Each rack has an estimated one hundred hangers for a total of twelve hundred suits that make up the clearance section. Here is the process we followed:

--My wife shops by touching each item, inspecting the tag first and foremost. If the price is discounted 'enough', then it warrants further inspection.

--Next the size is looked at. It must be a 'small' but also must be 'large enough'. This hearkens back to the principle that all women’s clothing should be size 'small' or 'zero' regardless of the actual dimensions.

--Lastly, the style is taken into consideration.

--If all of these criterions pass muster, the garment is then queued onto my wife’s’ arm.

--Once this queue is full, additional garments are passed on to her Sherpa (me) until enough items are collected to outfit a water polo team.

--Each of these garments are then tried on, complained about and ultimately rejected. The garments must then be replaced onto the rack where the hunt begins anew.

This process is then repeated until the husband’s mind is turned into mush. Due to us being "in a hurry", we only had to endure this three times, for a total of one hours and forty-five minutes. A few years ago, we ran a half-marathon (13.1 mi) in about the same amount of time. We found the grail and proceeded to begin our vacation, where new adventures awaited us.


Percussivity said...

Sounds like fun... and by 'fun' I mean not at all fun. However I am sure you did your best as a loving spouse and offered only encouraging words and patience... I am at least 20% sure.

The Unabashed Blogger said...

Perc is an optimist as I was thinking more about 10%.

The Irascible Neufonzola said...

Yes, I can help you find the Holy Grail! To the north there lies a cave...the cave of Caerbannog...wherein, carved in mystic runes upon the very living rock, the last words of Olfin Bedwere of Rheged make plain the last resting place of the most Holy Grail. Follow. But! Follow only if ye be men of valor, for the entrance to this cave is guarded by a creature so foul, so cruel that no man yet has fought with it and lived! Bones of full fifty men lie strewn about its lair. So, brave knights, if you do doubt your courage or your strength, come no further, for death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth.

Percussivity said...

What an eccentric performance!

The Angry Coder said...

How could I have left that part out?! For the benefit of all young men and newlywed men, I offer this advice: do not recommend that your spouse actually change the size of her behind in order to have more options on suits that 'cover everything'. While logic may lead you to that conclusion, it will also lead you in the way of death. And that explains the bleached and broken bones strewn about the cave-like entrance to the changing rooms...

J B Paul said...

I suggest next time you get right to the point. Just say, "I'll go shopping with you, sure, honey. I'll drop you and the daughter off at the door, the boy and I will listen to 98.9 while I attempt one more time to convince him HE really does want to wrestle next season, and I AM NOT forcing him to wrestle, when your done, just phone me and I'll pull up to the door and pick you and the girl up. Don't hurry, QT is close, and Guitar Center is right next door. If by chance, the boy and I run out of things to talk about or music to listen to, we can always go look at guitar equipment that I can't afford and won't ever get. Come to think of it, maybe this is the approach you should take to shopping. I could take you to the Plaza to look at clothes you can't afford and wouldn't ever get even if you could. Whadya say?"

The Angry Coder said...

She would probably be baffled by the notion that I would even look at guitars. Then she would wonder where the other girl was and the she'd express her displeasure at making her shop with both of the girls. And my boy would gripe about my music selection. I'll have to think of something else!

A Pilgrim's Porridge said...

A couple of years ago Eva and I went to six stores to find a coat. This took about three and a half hours. We went out the next day and bought one at the first place we visited.

This type of confusion makes me want to die.

Don't worry, though I offered plenty of sarcasm, I don't remember telling her I felt like dying.

word verification: desongus - what I want to say whenever I hear 98.9