“How about this one?” my husband asked while holding a lacey red bra up to his chest as if to demonstrate what it would look like on.
How I came to be shopping in the Intimates department with my husband isn’t clear. I probably bribed him to make a trip to the mall by suggesting that he could help me pick out bras and panties. He’s still a teenager at heart.
One of the unfortunate byproducts of my empty nest is that I lost my shopping partner. My daughter and I used to love to shop together.
So, there we were at the mall … and not to miss an opportunity to try to embarrass me, he positioned himself on the opposite side of the long rack for dramatic effect. From this vantage point, the entire department could hear (and see!) his shopping advice. I’ve long stopped giving him the reactions that he seeks. The other women, who were trying to shop discretely, weren’t in on the game and obliged my husband with raised eyebrows and nervous little coughs. He once said that if fifty percent of his jokes made me laugh, he achieved success. This means the other fifty percent of the time, I endured bad jokes and ridiculous behavior.
I like to say I’m not one of those people who needs a six-foot circle of personal space. Maybe I’ve been like this since childhood, when my brothers and I would pile into the back of the AMC Pacer while Mom drove us cross country. Remember that car? It was a cross between a Ford Pinto and a spaceship with wide, bubble-shaped windows. Ours was a silver two-door hatchback. We would load all our gear into the rooftop carrier so we could fold the back seats down to make a bed. My brothers and I could just fit three across.
Or maybe I learned to forgo personal space when in the green room , which is the room all the actors and guests use to wait backstage or on a movie set. As young actors, we were told that the secret to becoming a better actor was to learn the art of behaving naturally in unnatural situations. My experience was that the green rooms were always crowded with actors packed shoulder to shoulder while waiting for a cue. We would often have to make a costume change in mixed company—not a problem for me.
However, there is one place where I want to be alone.
My husband loves to tell the story about a couple we know who have lengthy conversations while one of them is sitting on the toilet! His ultimate master bathroom would be outfitted with dueling commodes! The ideal scenario would be sitting together each morning and talking about our day. Picture dueling pianos … one pianist plays a riff and the other responds in kind.
Now, I could use this scenario to my advantage. Whenever I say, “We need to talk,” he groans and does this weird face rubbing thing. And he spends A LOT of time in the bathroom … think captive audience. I bet I could get him to agree to all kinds of things!
Nah … If there’s anything best done alone, this is the one.
There are simply some boundaries I will not cross.