Couple weeks ago I was frantically trying to find a pair of nice, non-matronly black pumps* for my trip Back East. It got to be Thursday, less than 48 hours before departure, and I hadn't found anything reasonable at the mall. And did I mention? I hate to shop. I especially hate to shop when I'm in a hurry. And I'm always in a hurry when I shop because I put it off until the last possible moment. Because I hate to shop.
(More than once in my life, I have found myself running through the mall trying to find a dress to wear to an event that very night. Shameful, but true. I'm pretty sure I'm female but I'd never be able to prove it based on my shopping skills. I am a complete disgrace to the female mega-shopper stereotype.)
Anyway, Mr. B was off from work that day running errands. I asked if he could swing through the Decent-Quality Discount Store to see if they had any sort of selection. He, being the agreeable sort, agreed.
He called me back a short while later to report that they did have a promising selection. And, by the way, he didn't feel at all self-conscious about walking through the women's shoe department checking out the heels.
I laughed so hard I almost PMP. It never even occurred to me that it might look a bit... suspect for a 6'4", 200+ lb, 50-something guy to be casually strolling through the women's dress shoe aisle checking out the heels.
I told him as long as he didn't lean over to sniff them or ask the clerk if they came in a size 13, he probably escaped detection.
What a good sport, eh?
*With less-than-3" heels, closed toe, of non-man-made materials -- ha! Apparently it can't be done in my neck of the woods.