Shopping...

I'm not your typical man in oh so many ways.
I don't ogle women's boobs. Cars to me have four wheels and go places and that's all. I couldn't care less if I lose all my hair--actually, I think I'd like to: one less thing to do in the morning.
Let's see: my jealousy gene was never installed; I don't hog the remote (actually, my wife does that in our house); I actually have to love somebody--or at least like them a lot--to have sex with them; my job is what I do, not who I am. If you ask me the date of my anniversary or my wife's birthday, I don't have to hesitate.
Oh, there are plenty of ways I do resemble your stereotypical man...I derive an insane amount of pleasure from farting; I love several sports, especially hockey; unlike most women, I don't register dirt until it can support agriculture. I have selective hearing. Sexual thoughts enter my brain without knocking, kick around in there for a while, and then leave, only to come back later, say, in the next minute or two.
But by and large, I'm different. Abnormal. For instance, I don't mind shopping with my wife. Even for clothes.
In fact, I've picked out almost half her wardrobe over the years.
It helps that Eva's not your typical woman, either. She hates shopping when it's crowded. She won't spend her life's savings for a designer label. Nor does she agonize, either in the store or daily at home, over what to wear. We both share the conviction that clothes exist largely to cover nakedness, and any other function they have is largely irrelevant. Sure, you can't wear your comfies out to a fancy dinner, but beyond that...clothes are clothes.
I find it disgusting, in this rapidly obesifying society, that decent clothes for fat women are so hard to find. I know I just got finished saying that clothes are pretty much just to keep you covered, but why would anyone want to be covered in the dress their great-grandma was buried in? And just who was it that decided fat people are always cold? Eva for one is hot at any temperature much above absolute zero...which renders at least three quarters of Pennington's stock way too heavy for her. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've spotted a beautiful looking dress/skirt/what have you, only to dart to it, heft it, and think my God, she'd be reduced to a puddle within half an hour.

Eva does have her little pet obsession: purses.
I've never really understood purses. You don't see men carrying anything analogous--but then, women's wear typically doesn't have pockets. Men do have them--and most of us don't stuff them to anywhere near the degree women cram their purses. It's almost as if they expect Monty Hall from Let's Make A Deal to step out from behind that bush and say "I'll give $50 to the first person who gives me a...hard boiled egg!"
Really, gals, how much of the stuff you carry around day after day do you actually need?
Anyway, my wife is on a lifelong search for the IDEAL PURSE. She doesn't spend her every waking moment thinking about it, by any means, but whenever we're out shopping and we go past a purse place, Eva will sweep the room with her gaze and say "nope, this place doesn't stock the IDEAL PURSE either. You ask her what the ideal purse is and she'll say "I don't know, I'll know it when I see it."
"Oh, come on. When you see it, what will it look like?"
"Well, it must have a long, adjustable strap. It must be roomy but not bulky. It needs a lot of compartments but it can't look like it has a lot of compartments. It needs a hideaway for personal items like tampons and such. (Ken intrudes...uck, I'm a typical man in that just typing the word 'tampons' makes me vaguely ill.) Don't know about the material, probably leather. Oh yeah, and it needs at least one sleeve on the outside for a work passcard, so that the card doesn't dangle."
"Shit, no wonder you can't find the IDEAL PURSE. You've set the bar impossibly high."
"Exactly. But someday I'll find it, and I'll buy ten of them."

Now, I'll readily admit there's some places I will not shop in. Michael's is one. I don't think men are allowed in there--they certainly don't make any concession to the male persuasion. Everywhere you look there are frilly little doomoms, thingamawigs and whatchamagirlies. Any man you find in Michael's invariably trails his partner by at least fifteen feet, walking warily and wearily, head down, hoping against hope that no other male will catch him in there.
But book shopping? I can do that all day. My wife who loves me also loves to shop for books, so we often end up in Coles or Chapters soon after a Pennington's run. It makes the clothes shopping even easier to get through.

(Any hints on the IDEAL PURSE should be forwarded to my email...)