Shopping with Clark Kent

Clark Kent? Jon? Jodie? From http://www.hollywood.com

I’m sure you are wondering how my shopping outing went with Jon, but before I fly into that comic strip, I want to return to my thesis about how men shop differently than women: males are the “in and out” type, while females are the “in and let’s talk about our whole life story” type.  Did shopping with Jon prove this correct? Ha! Does Superman exist?

The Overdue “Saving the World” Agenda

Eye glasses. He had been putting them off for at least 3 months. During this time we went over a lot of curbs in his truck, and I read every menu that he couldn’t hold.  I was his must-needed sidekick. Our mission was clear, so we walked right through JcPenny (They have really cute spring dresses out already!) and headed to the first eye glasses store in the mall.

The Superman Wardrobe Change

He transformed into only about 10 pairs, trying them on like there was an invisible telephone booth right in the store. He knew what he wanted—black frames with no bottom.  So, yup, he tried only this style, but of course, threw in silly 100-year-old grandpa inspired pairs too to make me laugh. I needed that; I’m not buying clothes for a year.

The One Stop Shop (No, not Walmart)

After he had chosen his top pick and I had tried on many pairs (I love shopping for glasses. I get a chance to be Clark Kent too.), I started to leave, figuring we would go onto the next store, but Jon interrupted me: “Where are you going?”

“Aren’t we going to look anywhere else?”

He had a confused look on his face like other eye glass stores didn’t exist; men really couldn’t fly. (They have two more in our mall. And, men can fly but they can fall too.) “I just gonna get these,” he said.

“You really don’t want to shop anywhere else?” I said this not because I didn’t think the ones he had picked looked great, but because, I wanted to keep shopping. I wanted to try on more glasses.

“No, I’m done,” he said. “Is that ok?”

“Yes.”  I shuffled with him to the counter like a child who didn’t get that lolly pop they wanted.  Did I throw a fit?  Absolutely not, I’m 29 years old; I save those fits for when it really counts—over shoes. Instead I waited patiently while he made decisions: plastic, polycarbonate, anti-glare, etc. But, I couldn’t help but ask before we walked out after he had paid, “What is the warranty?” The saleswoman had totally forgotten. Jon I don’t think even cared or knew to ask.

Men should be lucky to shop with women. Even though we like to chat a lot, try on everything, and are attracted to shiny things, we never forget the most important factor: a good guarantee.

Women saving men, saving the world, one day at a time.  Who is the super hero now?

“Walk like a man, Talk like a Man . . . Shop with a man?”

This weekend I’m going shopping with Jon, and I think, no, I know I’m more excited than he is. Why? . . . because I’m a female and he is a male, duh! Yes, the Jersey Boys got it right. Men really have a swagger to them to feel like the Jolly Green Giant, and women try their best not to fall on their face in skyline tall heels.  Women and men not only walk different, but they shop different.

Yeah, this is not going to happen!

Men go into a store with a purpose; it is an “errand.”  They know where to go, what they are looking for, and at times, know how much it will cost, and they always make sure it can fit in the back of their pick up: “I need to go to Fleet Farm for an ice auger Jiffy Model 75 ArcticBLAS that’s $310.” Now, some women are probably thinking: “Wow! That is expensive,” or, most likely, “What is an auger?” (It is the standup drill you use to make holes in the ice, so you can get the fish out of the lake.) It was also my favorite piece of equipment when it came to ice fishing with my dad when I was a little girl. I was mesmerized by the water that spilled out of the holes after the drill broke through 6 inches and then came back up to the Earth’s surface.

Women now, they go to a store not necessary for a purpose, but 85% of the time for the “experience.” One woman says to the other, “What do you want to do today?” Keep in mind there is a lot to do in La Crosse: swim, bike, hike, go on a brewery tour, but the usual response will be: “Let’s go shopping.” Why is that? No, it is not because they want new clothes; they want to chatter—gossip about colleagues, family, boyfriends, and other friends. So, yes, men when we go out shopping with our girlfriends we are usually going to talk about you, trying on clothes just gives our bodies something to do as our mouths do the real work.

How will it be when I go shopping with Jon? I’m not sure.  I won’t be able to gossip about him with him, and I can’t try on any clothes. Well, I could, but why directly torture my body like using nail polish remover to eradicate a temporary tattoo? How will I keep myself from instant comatose?  . . . I could buy an auger? But then I would need a fishing license, a jig, line, hook, bait, that little orange shovel with the holes you used to get the slush off the top of the hole. . . . Gee, this not buying clothes resolution may get expensive.

Ladies, ideas?

Is that Versace? Nope, it’s a Liedke

My mother has labored in a mozzarella factory for over 33 years, but she is more than just a maker of one of Wisconsin’s must-haves besides beer; she was an artist.  In a past blog post I wrote that most of our clothing came from hand-me-downs that our cousins had outgrown.  This was true, but before that my mother made a lot of our childhood attire, especially special occasion dresses for Christmas and Easter. I don’t remember her making them so much as me wearing them.

Jenny and I with Mom and Dad in our matching dresses for Christmas

I used to hate getting dressed up like my sister, Jenny for one simple reason: We couldn’t have been more different.   Jenny was the tough “I kill deer with a bow” kind of a girl, while I was the anxious “I don’t want to sit in a stand all day just to kill something” kind of a girl. It took me years to just start to grow anything that resembled her thick skin.

But when my mother dressed us in her hand-sewn dresses, we were like two little American Girl dolls—picture perfect midwest daughters—until we opened our mouths: ****  That we learned from our father; he was an artist too.

Like I said, I don’t remember her ever making the dresses, but I know she put a lot of warmth and honor into each stitch, hem, and button just like she does with her cooking.  She was always proud to say that she had made them.  It was the ONLY new clothing we ever had as children. And, even though looking like Jenny wasn’t my top priority, it felt good to have something no one else had or could have.

Mom still has all the dresses she made for us boxed in the rafters in the garage.  One day, hopefully soon because Jenny’s little girl, Joslyn will turn two this year, the dresses will come back to life on the next generation.

Red Blouses, Lipstick, Heels, Oh, My? No, Oh, Shit!

Just so you all know, just because it is Valentine’s Day, I did not hound Jon to get me clothes for this occasion. What kind of girl do you think I am? (I’ll save that for my birthday.) . . . Actually, I was never really a good clothes receiver when it came from men anyway, but probably because many that I’ve dated ended up giving me clothes that weren’t really me per se: an aqua blue snakeskin clutch with a silver wrist chain (What would I wear with that? A first aid kit because I would probably end up looking like a hot mess that needed medical attention.) Or, how about a blingy, big-faced watch that only Rihanna would wear? (I sport it occasionally, but I always get the look “that is not you” from my friends. I kind of like the sparkle though.) Men, Clothes, and I don’t mix. . . .

“Where are your flowers, Jodie?” one of my male colleagues asked me this morning.

“Flowers?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. I expected you to have flowers.”

I would never assume to receive flowers from a man. I’m not an assumer, but I have to admit, Jon is a bit of a romantic; he has very close kin to Romeo. (Yes, I made that up.  However, when I think about it again, Jon is Italian, and Romeo is from Venice. . . . ) Anyway, I kind of expected flowers. Did I tell my colleague this? Heck no, I said, “I don’t need flowers; I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Ok,” he said.  What he really meant to say was, “liar.”

Bouquet Jon Sent Me for Valentine’s Day

Just 20 minutes later, you know what happened?  Yes, our amazing secretary delivered a beautiful, fresh bouquet of flowers to my office.

“Thank you so much,” I said to her. “Thank you!” (My face gets red here, matching the roses.)

“Don’t thank me,” she laughed, “I didn’t send them.”

I opened the card: “Happy Valentine’s Day Jodie! I can’t wait until our next adventure together! . . . [The rest is personal; you can’t get everything, you know].”

I smiled—a lot. Yes, I really am “that” kind of girl, a woman that appreciates thoughtfulness that extends way beyond clothing.

So, gals, what did you get for Valentine’s Day? (Please don’t say red heels. Ok, yes, I’m still thinking of my co-worker and friend, Emily’s red heels from a month ago.  She reminded me how much I loved them by wearing them to work today. . . . I know what I just said above.  This process takes time. :))

1 Stop at Macy’s: 5 New Outfits

What is blue, has feet pockets, and is inspired by monkeys? . . . Give up? It is the five-pack of baby onesies I purchased at Macy’s last week for my friends Angela and Kris.  They are expecting their son, Winsor in March. I’m so excited for them to be parents and was equally excited to get the chance to buy clothes that Angela opened at her baby shower this past weekend.  Winsor is going to be one styling cutie that is for sure!

5 New Outfits and Mommy to Be

Is this still within my rules?  Of course!  I can’t buy anything for myself.  Other people are fair game even if what I buy for them can fit me, which baby onesies certainly cannot.  But, let me tell you, if baby onesies came in my size, I would proudly pull them over, snap them up, and relax on my couch with a bowl of freshly made cookie dough and a mug of Baileys and hot chocolate.

Ok, I apologize for painting that picture in your head.  I don’t even want to picture that—weird. It is like heading back to the 80’s when skintight leotards were a bigger hit than puffy bangs.  But, aren’t the 80’s coming back too?  I’m starting to see a lot of neon green, yellow, orange, and pink in the stores. I should have saved some of those past picks and busted them out in 2013.  However, the seven-year-old Jodie wasn’t thinking about money and being “hip” in first grade.  As children, most of our clothes would come in big, black garbage bags that came from our cousins that had out grown them.  Those were “new” to us. It wasn’t until middle school when “cool” meant having brand names.  I still remember my first item from Calvin Klein. . . . It was all downtown shopping from there.

After Hours Shopping Spree Winner!

This Could Have Been Me

Amber called me yesterday.

Reader: Who is Amber?

Amber is a sales associate at Maurcies here in La Crosse.

Reader: You can’t shop? You didn’t buy the boots? Why was she calling you?

You’re right. I didn’t. And, I was just as surprised as you are. . . . Answer: I had won an After Hours Splurge Party for myself and five or more of my friends.  Brady had put my name in for the prize months upon months ago.  I thought those contests were just a trick to get more customers.  Note to all women, you really can win from them!

I could choose any day.  I would receive 30% off all merchandise, and my guest would receive 15%.  They would even provide us all with goodie bags!

Reader: What did you say?

Come on. I said, “No” of course.

Then Amber said, “Are you sure?”

She was very puzzled as to why anyone would turn this down.  Women just don’t do that sort of thing. I had to tell her the truth: “My New Years resolution is to not buy any new clothes for the year.”

Amber was silent, and then finally said in a very upbeat tone, (She was super nice.) “Well, good luck with that.”

I need more than luck; I need a redo.

No Shoes for You!

“Let’s go into Maurices,” Jenny said, after she was already making her way to the store.  We had been in and out of four stores already (TJMax, Yonkers, Sears, and JCPenny) and nothing had caught my eye.  I was doing good until the dreaded Tiffany blue store.

No Shoes for Me

At first I saw many clothing items I already had: dress pants, blouses, even scarves, but then I saw them.  They sat tall on the corner shelf across the store. Oh, and they whispered to me from afar, “Jodie, come and meet us.  Touch us. Put on us.” (I swear I’m talking about a clothing encounter here—not a sexual experience.) All I could hope was that they weren’t my size.  I walked very slowly like a female lion creeping up on her prey in the tall grass. (I hid behind clothes racks.)  I reached my hand ever so gently and pulled one down.  I turned over the perfect height boot that was not too masculine but just enough that it had some edge.  No, not a 9.5! It was just my size.  And, to make it worse, there was only one pair left. I had been searching for a black boot like this since fall began and had no luck—until now. . . . I glanced over my shoulder. Jenny was nowhere in sight.

I slipped the box out and saw the boots identical brother.  I couldn’t wait to get them on my feet.

“You find something?”  I thought perhaps it would be one of the saleswomen, but we all know who it was.  Jenny smiled behind me.

“Yes.” I closed the lid of the box as if it were a small coffin.  Her presence changed everything. “But, I’m not going to even try them on.” I slid the box back into place. Her hands were empty.  “You didn’t find anything?”

Jenny shook her head.

“Let’s leave.”  We turned to head out, but immediately my lioness instinct smelled something funky.  (No, no one had farted.)  A hot pink pair of heels sat across from the boots.  You have got to be kidding me?  We snapped a quick photo of my unobtainable prey and then retreated.  Maurices is a land I should never visit again.  Well, at least until 2014.