#shywalker stuff

“Do you need more gym leggings?” he asked, fingering a pair. I looked at them. They shone with the telltale sheen of polyester. That’s another part of my rebrand, too. I hate polyester.

Nicholas turned over the tag and laughed. “Do you need leggings that will push up your butt?” I suppressed a good-natured smirk. My butt was perky enough, thank you very much.

“Maybe you’d like some Christmas pants,” he said, gesturing to a display of festive fleecy pajama pants—only the fabric was too thin, and something about the mink felt off, like something you’d find on a knockoff Sonic the Hedgehog plush in a street market. “Would you wear these?”

Why is he so invested in me buying something here? I thought.

For reference, I had just bought two new pairs of jeans online at $100 each. No, my mother never would have bought them for me. That’s why I had bought them. I’d paid that much for them because they were the right length for my five-foot frame (something extremely rare) and were well-made and in style. I was a Real Woman now who liked Real Things and nothing in this probably-ethically-questionable-in-terms-of-manufacturing store could tempt me.

“Would you want a sweater?” Nicholas asked, pointing to the rack of sweaters on the wall. They were all one size. I took a closer look at one of them. It bore the prestigious brand name of “ZHJENLQIK.”

Why were we hanging around here, anyway? I’d had a bit of an online shopping spree over the past few months, and Nicholas had been gently telling me I ought to tone it down (we live in California, after all—and pay rent at that). So why now, when we were in a store full of Things I Would Never Buy, did he seem so set on me getting something?

“What do you think, bebby?” (‘Bebby’ is ‘baby,’ but pronounced like you’ve been together for four years and sharing a brain cell.) “Is there anything you like?”

…Oh.

…Oh!

The heavens parted, and suddenly I understood. I got it now—my man wanted to buy me stuff!

With that epiphany, the proverbial material girl that the philosopher Madonna once spoke of awoke within me.

Joy of joys, what a blessing to be alive! My hot, sexy husband, who’d promised to cherish and keep me two Octobers before, wanted to spoil me with presents and lavish his (well, our) money on me in the only way he knew how—in the cheapest straight-from-China store in the mall, just like his mama had raised him.

Well! With that added context, I suddenly began to feel like a goshdarn princess in that ratty little discount store. I directed Nicholas’ attention toward a bodycon dress I thought would look good on me (despite the fabric being thin and the edges all unhemmed).

“Which do you like more,” I asked him, “black or red?”

“Red would be a nice holiday color!” he said encouragingly.

We revisited the rack of sweaters. One of them was beige and had a rabbit pattern on it.

“Do you want a nice boony sweater?” he asked. (Boony is ‘bunny,’ but pronounced like you’ve been living with someone for two years and sharing a brain cell.)

“It’s kind of big, since it only comes in one size,” I said. “But…what do you think?”

“It is kind of big…” he agreed. “But it’s cute, and it’ll keep you warm.” He paused, then gave me a smile. “We’ll get it for the boonies!”

“Okay!” I said happily.

It was a bit of an awkward dance, I’ll admit. In that store full of Things I’d Never Buy, I needed him to like something on me in order to want it myself, and because he cared what I thought, he needed me to like something of my own accord in order to want me to have it. But in the end, we settled on the slinky red dress and the boony sweater.

And so my man bought me a dress for $10.99 and a sweater for $13.99 and the whole thing had been his idea. Boy, did I ever feel like the most pampered queen to ever have been spent less than twenty-five dollars on!

“Maybe you could wear the dress to dinner tonight!” Nicholas said enthusiastically, then kindly added, “If you want to.”

I did want to. My husband had bought it for me, by golly!

We went back to the hotel, and I changed into the dress so I could wear it to dinner. I also gladly wore it while he…well, never mind that.

In any case…I love my cheap-ass dress, and I love my cheap-ass sweater.

…And?