The Right To Remain Silent

Ron Nagasawa
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Wednesday - January 30, 2008
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I have yet to figure out my role when I accompany my wife to go shopping. When we first started dating, going shopping with her was fun. As most guys will agree, you’ll practically eat fire just to be around your girlfriend. Doing that also scores you intimacy points, so it’s shop until you drop.

After we got married and had kids, my shopping role started to change, as did my desire to spend hours at the mall. I suddenly became the combination baby-sitter/pack mule. I would push the stroller around while carrying shopping bags and ultimately my wife’s purse - a sure sign that I was whipped.

Luckily, as our now 10-year-old daughter got older, she became my wife’s partner in crime, and the two of them would go off while I took refuge in places that had chairs, food and beverages. Still, on occasion, I’m drafted to go clothes shopping with my wife and daughter for reasons I don’t understand.

The other week my wife wanted to find an outfit she could wear to one of the many social functions we get invited to. While she rarely goes shopping for herself, she has made it clear that she will not be seen in the same outfit more than twice at these occasions.

Since these are usually functions related to my work, that somehow obligates me to the outfit-selection process. Anyway, we were at one of my wife’s favorite boutiques. I stood outside watching the world go by when our daughter came outside to get me.

She uttered those words that send shivers down men’s spines: “Mom wants your opinion.” I was led to four dressing rooms around the perimeter of a small waiting area that had two chairs right next to a three-way mirror. I planted myself in a chair, and my wife said not to go away.

Suddenly one of the other dressing rooms flew open and out stepped a woman who was trying on an outfit. She wanted to look at herself in the three-way mirror. I avoided eye contact and pretended that I was invisible. She twirled around seemingly oblivious to me and was checking out her rear view.

With no one else in the immediate area, she blurted out to me, “Does this make me look big?” With that, I took off like Britney avoiding paparazzi. I’m willing to risk expressing my opinion to my own wife, but heck if I’m going to do some other woman’s husband’s job.

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