Shopping with the Hulk

My fiancé and I went shopping today, and I noticed a few things worth mentioning to you.

The Dude Sofa: I spend a lot of time sitting on sofas while she shops. When I am not with her in the dressing room, I tend to find a place to park it while she browses. Most clothing stores have some sort of sofa or chair. Our most frequent shopping haunt offers a very comfy sofa that we have named the “dude sofa” – as in, the place where dudes sit while their girlfriends and wives are shopping.  And, butches. I really appreciate the dude sofa. I can “guy out” in a super comfy way with a game of Angry Birds while she peruses. Here are a couple “dude sofas” that I have parked it on recently.

The Butler: Obviously, as the butch, I carry all or most of the shopping bags. As I have said before, my fiancé is always happy to carry her bags, but I don’t let her. Only when my hands are full, does she get to carry a bag or two. I also frequently end up holding her purse so she has two free arms to use while looking through clothes. Now, let me note that I am very happy for her to carry a purse, because as I’ve noted in the past, she carries my butch crap in it. However, when I perform this important community service, I feel odd holding a purse (what if someone thinks it’s mine!?), and she tells me that I hold it as if it were a snake about to bite me. I think this means that I hold it away from my body with two fingers. It may bite – what do I know? Interestingly, I’ve noticed that my father is completely fine with holding my mom’s purse. Perhaps as an older butch, I will become more secure in my butchulinity, and it will not bother me. My dad is obviously advanced and I admire him.

What is SHE Smoking? Today, the woman who normally helps us was not there. My fiancé and I both love her. She knows my girl’s style and she accepts and likes us as a couple. So a different woman helped us today, and after we had gathered a few things, she says to me, “I’ve seen you two in this department quite a few times shopping for her (nodding toward my fiancé). When is it your turn?” We were surprised for a split second, but then I politely answered, “Oh, I don’t shop here – I shop downstairs in men’s.” File under duh, right? Oh, well, she’s nice anyway.

Hulk Smash!  It’s funny for me being there in the ladies’ section with my fiancé – particularly when she’s shopping in petites. I mean, I am a woman, but does someone actually expect me to wear these tiny clothes? Even when I’m at my goal weight – soon! – nothing in either the regular or petites department would come close to fitting me – unless I were shopping for belly shirts and daisy dukes, which is basically how women’s clothes fit me. I have huge shoulders, I’m 5’10” and wear size 10 in men’s shoes. I’m just not built to fit into women’s clothes, not that I mind. I don’t want to wear them anyway. But generally when I walk around the ladies’ section, I feel like the Hulk. I hold up a tiny shirt on a hanger for my girl and stare at it confused, wondering why it’s so tiny, tilting my head back and forth – Hulk like. I try to navigate through the racks of clothing without running into anyone or anything, and wonder if this is what the Hulk would look like trying to navigate his way through a Waterford crystal shop. Hulk Smash!

Why is that Dude in the Dressing Room?  Given my size, mohawk and general appearance, women appear alarmed when I walk back to the dressing room with my gorgeous fiancé. Yes, men, be jealous. As a butch, I get the privilege of going into the dressing room with my girl. I promise you that it is much better than sitting on the dude sofa watching NASCAR. In the dressing room, there is sometimes kissing! Plus, I get input. “Do you like this, Butch?” Why, yes I do. You look hot. I also volunteer to hang things up. She loves not having to do it, and it speeds things up quite a bit so we can get out of there and go to lunch. Hulk hungry.

Aren’t Those Shoes for Whores?   I am good at picking out clothes for her, but I suck at shoes. Really, she always buys at least one or two of the clothing items that I select for her. But shoes? That’s another story. Take today, for example. We walked by our fifth shoe store of the day (ACK!), and I pointed to a pair of shoes in the window and said, “Wow, those are whorey” at the exact same time that my fiancé said, “I love those shoes!” Well, my friends, I am sure that you know where this is going. In the store, we went. Right up to those whorey shoes. She tried them on and loved them. And, you know what? She looked hot, hot, hot. Not at all like a whore. I’ve decided to let her take the lead on shoes.