Hubby Was Right

Hubby likes to be right. This doesn't happen very often, but occasionally he is right.   At that point he announces to anyone who will listen, Hey, I was right today!    Women stare back at him like he's nuts, while the guys smile and give him a high-five.  This is because they too are seldom right.

It all started because I was having one of those days .   You know, the kind where nothing makes you happy, with a funk hanging over you like a black cloud?  Luckily they don't happen to me very often.   Hubby is extremely glad too.   My mood can go from giddy to ghoulish in a nanosecond, although mostly I just can't seem to make a decision on anything “ going to the gym, working, reading, watching TV “ you name it.     I know I ™m in a funk, yet I simply can't extract myself from its grip.

This time was even worse because I had work to do, including writing.   Nothing kills creativity more than being in a funk.   I had been at the computer for hours and all I had to show for it was a Facebook update and a few winning games of solitaire.

Being a very smart man, Hubby assessed the situation and suggested I get out of the house for a break.   Being a very stubborn gal, I didn't move a muscle, insisting that I need to stay at the computer to get work done.     Not sure exactly what happened next except that I found myself being led to my car, purse in hand, with Hubby telling me to head to the mall and just walk around to clear my head.     It will do you good,  he said.   Besides, don't you need to buy some face stuff?    That's guy-talk for make-up, in case you don't recognize it.

Fine, I thought. You want me out of the house, I ™ll leave.   It's not going to help the funk I ™m in, but at least I ™ll get some exercise.

I felt even worse when I got to the mall, realizing that I had not bothered to change and I was still in my gym clothes.   At least I wasn't sweaty since my funk had forbid me from hitting the gym.   My plan was a quick walk all the way around the mall, with only one stop for face stuff .

As I walked, it occurred to me that I hadn't been shopping in quite some time.   Serious shopping, I mean.   The kind where you look at all the clothes, assess the season's trends and make a wish list of must-haves.   Store windows screamed fall, with new clothes in a glorious color palette.   Colors that were perfect for me.   Styles that were perfect for me.   Sale signs that encouraged me to shop “ which was perfect for me.

Let me just say that I ™m usually pretty quick to decide on clothing. I can enter a store, visually scan the racks, and tell almost immediately whether or not there's anything I want to look at.   I ™m so quick that if Hubby is with me, he barely gets a chance to find a seat before I ™m ready to move on to the next store.

This time was different. EVERYTHING was calling my name.   As I stepped into one of my favorite stores, my heart started racing and I found my excitement pushing the funk out the back door.   The colors and styles were almost too much to take in.   Perusing the racks, touching the fabrics, examining the styles “ before I knew it I was in a dressing room with a pile of clothes to try on.       And of course for once, everything I tried on fit. And looked good.   Nothing beats a good funk like fabulous new clothes.

A bit overwhelmed by all of the styles and colors, I decided to move on down the mall while I thought about a purchase.     Every store was the same, with windows ablaze in fashion, each style calling my name.

As I purchased the one item I actually came for “ face stuff  – I mentally tallied the bill to purchase the fashions I was interested in.   My math was rough, but I figured it totaled about $5,000. I got in the car and headed home.

Walking in the door, Hubby could sense that my mood had changed and that my funk had bailed on me.   See “ I told you shopping would be good for you!  he crowed, knowing that his decision to send me to the mall had indeed been right.   Did you get your face stuff?    Oh yeah , I told him.   But there was so much to buy!   The clothes are fabulous this season; just my colors. I spent about $5,000 .

I watched the color drain from Hubby's face as he clutched his wallet while trying to look brave and supportive.   I failed to tell him that I had only mentally spent $5,000.   After all, it's important for him to know that he was right.