Yesterday I went shopping with the Man. I should probably make clear at this point that, despite my nickname, I am in fact a straight female and not unduly mannish. It's a long (and actually not very interesting) story.
Anyhoo.
Yes, so we went shopping. He wanted to buy a new suit, which of cause is enormously difficult and traumatic for boys as they are unpractised at the art of shopping and suddenly have to spend hundreds of pounds on something that actually looks exactly the same as all the others in the shop.
I was helping:
Me: Try this one!
Man: Too stripey.
Me: Er...this one?
Man: Too plain.
Me (picks up the first one again): This one?
Man: Too....shiny.
a while later...
Me: This one! THIS ONE THIS ONE THIS ONE!
Man: But it's brown.
Me: YES!
Man: And a bit stripey.
Me: Yes! It's perfect. This one. Buy this one.
Man: But I don't want a brown suit. I don't like brown suits.
Me: Buy this one. All the others are horrible. In fact, they are probably made out of poisonous fabric woven by evil elves in a factory of death and will give you leprosy just by wearing them.
A pause. Man regards the suit. Looks at me, back at the suit. A realisation dawns.
Man: Doctor Who wears a suit like this, doesn't he.
Me: Does he? Really, I hadn't noticed. Ahem.
Silence.
Me: We could get you some white converse sneakers to go with it...
We leave the shop.
*sigh*
Roger.
Oh, PS, he got his own back in the evening, when he took me to a drinks party - in order to illustrate this I need only quote two little snippets of conversation I overheard:
"This is [insert complicated professory name here], you've probably read his book on Europe"
and my special favourite:
"Of course I didn't start working there until after I was bored with the Aga Khan".
