Because the first day of Little League was rained out, my husband had a great idea. Shopping. We, as a family would go shopping. Well, since you can’t get a root canal on a rainy Saturday, a family outing to Bloomingdales is a fine runner up.
Mr. G. was (in theory) liking the layered look for springtime. He needed a few pair of pants and some work shirts, so off we went. My father had Jane so Mr. G, Alexander and I made a beeline for the Ralph Lauren section in the men’s department. Quickly we found a beautiful linen shirt and some khaki pants, classic Lauren. Then it was time for slim cut sweaters, jeans and shirts. As we three crossed the aisle to the premium denim section, Mr. G. stopped for a moment and looked at a mannequin that can only be described as feminine, and exclaimed, “I think we’re in the women’s section.” Our son Alexander shouted in agreement, “Only girls wear stuff like that.”
I smiled with my lips, and found a salesperson to help us. After two hours of clothing flying in every direction, Mr. G found a few suitable choices. When we got to the “white jeans” it was my turn to cause a scene.
“Excuse me.” I said to the sales clerk, “do you have a pair of these jeans that aren’t dirty?”
“They’re not dirty,” was her reply.
“Actually, they are filthy.” And I pointed to the streaks of gray running down my husband’s whitish pants.
Turns out that market research shows that men won’t buy white pants because they’re scared of getting them dirty. This year premium denim is made to look dirty. Every inch of me rejects this. Mr. G got the pants, he looks great in them, he looks great in everything.
Understand that I am the woman who hides detergent from her daughter, I am the woman that is so in love with clean clothing that I’ll be posting a love note to Kenmore later this week. I am that woman, and my husband… he bought dirty jeans.
I shrieked in the men’s department. I was loud.
At about the two hour mark Mr. G and Alexander were ready to go home, Jane had joined us and I’d run into a few friends. We went to the cashier and realized we were at bloomies for a huge sale. When she rang us up his total was $1740 before discounts (don’t froth at the mouth, this is not a typical shopping for us), and we’d get $250 discount. I noticed that if we spent $2,000 we’d get a $500 discount. On top of that, neither of us had a Bloomingdale’s card, so if we opened one there’d be another 20% off.
I made my family sit still and I ran up and down escalators finding my final items so I could hit the magical $2,000 mark without going over. I raced around like a TV contestant, and yes, if you look at the pictures below, you’ll see the shoes I got for myself. I do appreciate irony.
The good news? Fast forward 15 minutes and I added a few things for myself. Total cost? About $1350.