This morning I arrived at work early, too early, but then I'm poor and do silly things like open before sunrise. Fifteen minutes later the phone rings and it's Sweet Wife on the other end. I said, "What's up?"
"Why?" A long pause on the other end of the line, then, "Because."
I don't take orders. She repeated her, "Because." This, isn't good. I tried again, "Honey," (Sweet talk don't 'ya know) Why, pray tell, do you want me to come home?"
She lets out with a long sigh, "Because - we need to drive down to St. Augustine. You, my dear husband, need clothes."
Just kill me now.
Inside Sweet Wife takes me by the hand and leads me to the men's footwear department. She selects a pair of boots for me. She's like that, she decides and I say yes and place the items in the cart. No if, ands, and buts about it, she selects the articles - I just pay for them. She did grant me permission to select the brand I normally wear. I mentioned how kind it was of her. She smiled.
Then it's time for sandals. I insist on the most masculine pair I can find. She smiled and said, "Fine."
Then, socks. Six new pair. I only wear Merino Wool...she approved. See, I get my way when I put forth effort. But, she's like that too. She lets me win a few.
She takes the cart and heads further into the store. I allowed as how I was taking control and needed to check out the firearms department. She gave me ten minutes with further instructions to meet her in the men's clothing department. I said, "Yes, dear." I showed her who was boss.
They had 'purty' guns, too. Even had ammo boxes on sale, for twelve bucks. She said to put them back. Explained how the dirt on the boxes might mess up her/my new trousers and shirts.
Then, I noticed three pair of boy shorts in the cart....shorts. You know, those pants they've taken and whacked off just below the knees. The things metro-sexuals tend to wear around town. Three pair. I did notice they were 5.11's. Had 'tactical' stitched on the rear....tactical for Pete's sake....olive drab, navy blue, and khaki 5.11 shorts. Who knew, and she had them in the cart.
I grunted. Tim Allen has nothing on me...
The monkey cart now held, one pair of boots, sandals, three pair of shorts tactical boy things, six pair of socks, two shirts. She then shoved me towards the trousers. Sweet Wife said one of my favorite set of pants had a hole worn where my spare magazine clipped onto my belt. Tacky, she said. You need new ones. She's like that too, tells me when I should purchase new trousers.
At least she allowed me to stick with the 5.11's. Waste size 36. I insisted I knew my own waist size. She argued. Said you've lost weight and you should drop down one size to a 34. I said no...she took them from my hand and replaced them. Women, they just don't know when to give in to a man's superior intellect. I showed her. (Later, at home, the size 34 did indeed fit.)
Asked, please, may I have that nice black piece of 5.11 luggage. It was a cool bag. Thought, what would it hurt to ask...she said, "No."
So I showed her and replaced the silly green 5.11 belt she'd thrown in the cart to wear with my cool tactical new boy scout shorts. Thin darn thing wouldn't even hold up under the weight of my Glock if you'd begged it. Stupid nylon junk.
Later, while I placed all of Sweet Wife's items before the check out boy, the belt magically appeared and I paid fifteen bucks for it. She's sneaky as all get out. I gave her the eye. Then told her I'd never wear the darn baby girlie-boy belt.
She just smiled.
5.11 hasn't paid me one single nickel for my wonderful endorsement of their products. If they choose to do so, please email and I'll send you my mailing address. I'm poor and will accept any payoff or bribe you offer. I prefer gold or silver bullion. Thank you.