The Terror That Is Trixie

So, we've got two weddings and the holiday season coming up.

And, as such, it was time to find Trixie a new cocktail dress.

Trixie doesn't hate shopping. Shopping is Trixie's nemesis.

To make a long story short, after only three stores, we found a smashing dress that Trixie glows in.

Now to me.

This should have been easy.

All I needed was a new tuxedo shirt.

Store # 1 had some on manequins, but I didn't see any in the little cubbie hole thingies, so we left.

Store # 2 had nothing of any merit.

Store # 3 had one. I was immediately greeted by the aging saleswoman and promptly informed her to select a tuxedo shirt in my size.

After some looking on the shelves, she notified me that she would have to locate the shirt "in the back".

I love "in the back".

There's a sense of mysticism about "the back".

They always have more in "the back".

Trixie doesn't beleive in the magic of "the back", but I digress.

She promptly produces the shirt in my size, and at $30.00 more than I thought it was worth.

Trixie looks at me and says: "You wear your tux what, twice a year?"

She needn't say more.

Now, as a part of Trixie's abhorance of the shopping experience, naturally, she detests sales people. Especially women.

So to pass some time, Trixie begins to leaf through the stacks of shirts sitting folded on a table.

She gigglingly begins to make selections and the saleswoman, eager to assist, begins to offer matching ties and slacks, and belts and underwear and offers to take me in "the back" to determine on which side I dress...

Trixie's amassing a pile of shirts and the sales woman is desperately trying to keep pace, throwing ties on top of shirts, looking to Trixie for approval, all the while, I'm delving into a collection of sport shirts, with one eye on Trixie and another on her new friend.

I then make an announcement:

"You know, I think I'm going to forgo the tuxedo shirt. I've got some time before the wedding and I'd like to continue looking around."

You'd have thought I told her "I've plunged an ice pick into the left temple of your Norwich Terrier".

She frightenengly tried to salvage a commission, even if reduced.

Many shirts, of many patterns and colors, were desperately suggested, of which the best was a pink, white and blue gingham plaid one.

When presented this option, I politely told her the color didn't suit my skin tones, but Trixie, Trixie was brutal, telling her "Are you kidding me? He'll look like a piece of penny candy!"

Needless to say, I'm not wearing gingham today.