Seven years. Ah, seems like just yesterday! I was twenty pounds lighter back then and she still had that new wife smell. So in love. I married way up. I'm still not sure what she sees in me. Evidently short, fat and bald is the new tall, dark and handsome. I'm pretty sure she didn't marry me just for my money.
But I did spend some money on her recently. In anticipation of today, I went to one of her favorite stores. It's either Bed, Bath and Beyond or Bath and Bodyworks. I never can remember which one is which but I chose the wrong one once and she's never let me forget it because evidently they sell way different stuff. So this year I did my homework and went to the right store. I know it's the right one because it reeked of candles and estrogen. You know what I mean. I felt like I had interloped into "Share your feelings" land where men are dreamily forgotten and women rule the kingdom with velvet potpourri-scented fists. I hate the place.
I was actually very intimidated by the place and maybe a little scared. I was scared because I don't know what all that stuff is in there. It's wall-to-wall lotions and potions and cremes and scented things that I didn't know were supposed to be scented. To be honest, I am afraid I'm going to unknowingly pick up something that is, you know, some sort of feminine only kind of product that women only talk about in yoga class and hospitals. It would be my luck for some woman to see me pick up the extra-large bottle of Vagisweet or Vagiseal or whatever, and ask me if I needed help. "Does this come in a candle?", I would ask like an idiot. Then I'd get embarrassed and say it was for my aunt or something and then I would have to wet my pants just so she would quit talking to me and I could leave. Let's just say I have some pretty unattractive scenarios played out in my head at the Bed and Bathworks place.
Actually, I went into the store and just stood there in the middle of the place until some nice lady who I presumed worked there came up and asked me if I needed help. I handed her my wallet and said "Yes, please." and she gave me several wicker baskets full of soft and lotiony stuff that screams "My husband is a sucker!" and then I thanked her and left. Well, what am I supposed to do? "Excuse me Ma'am, I was wondering if you had a large bottle of Burlap Berry-scented Vagiclean with matching candle and slippers?" Please! I'll have nightmares about that until I have to do it again next year.