I’ve been reading a short series of devotions lately on marriage, and the most recent one I read was about how God made men and women different purposefully. I think that’s important to acknowledge. Ironically, on the same day I read this particular devotion, I had the perfect opportunity to see this truth lived out.
Until yesterday, the Spouse and I hadn’t been on a “real” date since Valentine’s Day. But, we had a sitter for a few hours yesterday afternoon, and we seized the chance to grab lunch together and do a couple of quick errands. Very romantic, I know. But, really, having lunch and continuous conversation together without cutting the chicken into bite-sized pieces, making two trips to the restroom, wearing apple sauce on my shirt, and/or begging the Toddler to get out from underneath the table, was a treat.
The Spouse has had a gift card to a men’s clothing store ever since Christmas, and I thought we should try and use the card before it starts eating itself. {They do that, you know}. So, he agreed we should run by the store after lunch and pick out a pair of dress pants for summer weddings, business meetings, church, etc.
Now, I know that there are few things that most men hate more than shopping for dress clothes. But, let it be known that I don’t get any sort of special pleasure out of making the Spouse shop with me for his clothes. I just need his body there to have pants tailored to fit it. If I could just take a picture or a sketch into the store and go from there, I certainly would.
So, we get to the store and the kind salesman starts guiding us through the process of choosing a color, fabric, and style of pants to take to the fitting room. Solid or patterned, plain front or pleated, wool gabardine or wool weave… Already, the Spouse is visibly overwhelmed and explains to the salesman that he doesn’t have an opinion about any of those details and should just direct his questions to me. At this point I hear the salesman whisper to the Spouse, “You wouldn’t believe how many men bring their wives in here for the same reason…” And, with that, some sort of silent male bonding took place.
Soon, we… (actually, the salesman and I) decide on a pair, and the Spouse begins the fitting process. I think he tried on two pairs before he found the right size and style. And, then, much to his delight, we realized that the dress slacks were buy one get one free, so he would need to try on at least one more pair. All in all, I think he tried on four… maybe five pairs of pants, and had two of them very quickly and painlessly measured for the hem. By this time, the Spouse is exhausted and the salesman says in all seriousness, “Well, that’s probably enough trying on for today. We’ve put you through a lot.”
Let me just add here that we had only been in the store for maybe twenty minutes total. I can agree that we had to make several decisions related to the pants, but I would hardly call the experience stressful or tiring. I reserve those words for things like shopping with the girls… for new jeans… or the perfect black dress. Things that take hours, not minutes, to find. Things that involve several trips, multiple dressing rooms, many stores. Somehow, trying on four or five pairs of pants doesn’t compare to the agony of trying on a myriad of swimsuits in the spring in hopes of finding one, just one, that will work.
All the stress aside, I think the most striking thing I noticed yesterday is that the Spouse felt absolutely no sense of accomplishment once we were through with the {apparently tiresome} process of finding the pants. Honestly, he would have been more excited if we had just had the oil changed on our car. There was no pride, no satisfaction in having just made this great, practical purchase (and with a gift card!). Just relief that the whole experience was over and that the gift card had been laid to rest.
How can this be? Where is the joy? Has he no anticipation for the day when the pants are altered and ready to pick up and wear for the first time?
I think the answer is no. He’d be more excited about picking up a pizza than picking up his new pants any day.
And, you know what? That’s fine with me. I’ll gladly be the designated shopper.
Male and female. We’re definitely different.
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