Last week B and I went clothes shopping. Since the start of treatment he’s lost some weight – almost a stone in total. Although he eats plenty he shows no sign of putting it back on. Some of his clothes are starting to hang, especially jeans. I’ve been drawing attention to this by grabbing handfuls of fabric around his rear end and shouting “where is your bottom?”
I detest the shopping experience. It seems to get worse each time I go. I now purchase almost all of my clothes online (Boden is my new best friend) but sadly B has yet to make the move.
Here are some of the causes of my internal near-meltdown on Friday:
- “Where are the 7 for all Mankind jeans?” “Oh, we don’t have those – we don’t stock everything in the store that we have on our website”.
- B queued for 10 minutes for a fitting room, when there was another area of empty fitting rooms nearby that was closed.
- I asked an idle shop assistant on the menswear floor at House of Fraser if he could get down a stack of Diesel jeans for me from a shelf I couldn’t reach, so I could check the sizes. “Sorry, I don’t work for Diesel”.
- The ‘4 items at a time’ fitting room rule. Do they WANT you to try things on and buy them or not? I sneaked another 5 items to B when the attendant wasn’t looking.
- The misleading ‘can I help you with sizes?’ offer from a shop assistant. It SOUNDS helpful, as if he could check the computer system to see whether they have the size I want in stock. It actually involves the assistant looking through the same pile of clothes I have just examined and confirming that the size I want isn’t there. I already KNEW that. USELESS.
Despite the psychotic apoplexy caused by the above, I do enjoy choosing clothes for B to try on. I breeze through the store, picking up items I like without even looking at the price. My assumption is that he can afford it. On Friday I waited outside B’s fitting room in Selfridges for him to try on a pair of jeans.
Me: Can I see?
B: I’m not even putting them on. They’re £400.
He also tried on a pair of jeans that were so skinny, he had to sit on the floor to peel them off inside out. This was made even funnier by his indignation. “I found that humiliating. They shouldn’t sell those jeans”.
He did buy quite a few really nice things, including jeans that fit him snugly. He has a 30 inch waist! I could almost wear them myself if I rolled them up a metre.
On these shopping trips B eventually reaches what I like to call ‘purchase panic’. He visualises the dent we are making in his bank account, then we stop shopping and go home. I’m pleased to say that this fiscal threshold has increased year on year since he met me. He can now spend quite a bit before it kicks in. It’s one of my many achievements in our relationship.