NANCY & DENNIS: LEARNING TO WALK IN HER SHOES

Mr. Beth commented favorably on the last post, “Taking Over the Shopping Chores, “ describing how it works in his wife-led marriage, and adding, “I guess every dominate Woman as a different way of doing it!”

As I particularly enjoy this topic, I’m going to respond to Mr. Beth at somewhat greater length in this post:

However your wife wants to handle shopping is appropriate, Mr. Beth. It's always up to the woman to determine what she does or doesn't want to do. In my case Nancy doesn't care to do the routine grocery shopping and delegates that task to me. She and her mother do enjoy looking for clothes and, of course, they love shopping for shoes -- what woman doesn't?

When she allows, I accompany Nancy and her mother on their shopping excursions and am just as excited about discovering new styles as are the women. I justify my presence by driving, carrying bags, standing in checkout  lines while the women move onto the next department, and by being the patient husband/son-in-law who provides comments – always positive! -- on the things the women try on.

Going shopping with them teaches me a lot. I'm able to pull together a credible looking outfit, so much so that Nancy has long since trusted me with packing her bags for an out-of-town business trip and with laying out her next day outfit for work. This acquired skill has some benefits during the holiday season as I will discuss in another post.

As a submissive man I am compelled to better understand women and their tastes; I routinely scan the pages of the fashion magazines. Harper's Bazaar, Elle, and Glamour are required reading for me; I enjoy perusing their pages and routinely point out styles – particularly shoes – that I feel might interest the women. They are never dismissive of my suggestions but may not be as excited about them as was I. 

How women shop is very different from the approach men take. Men are in and out with the first thing they see; for them shopping is a chore. For women, shopping is a totally different experience. It's an opportunity to explore, discover, discuss, socialize, compliment, and to be pampered. Women rarely shop alone; shopping is a team sport that involves friends; like them, neither do I. I prefer to shop for clothing with my wife or her mother or with one or two progressive gentlemen I know from work. There is definitely a woman's slant to my shopping style. 

Indulging an interest in fashion is indeed a woman's right, one that men should recognize, accommodate and, yes, fund. While narrow-minded men of the dying patriarchy dismiss women's fashion as trivial or frivolous, progressive gentlemen see it as a celebration of women. There are ritualistic overtones to women shopping; something your typical male can't understand but something that a progressive gentleman appreciates and may, in fact, envy. To be invited to shop with women is to be given a privileged insight into the world of women, to figuratively walk in her shoes.  I can sit for hours while Nancy and her mother get a makeover at the beauty counter. Make-up is magic, taking an already beautiful creature and transforming her into an absolute Goddess. Men have no parallel activity; that women do is a testament to their superiority. 

Similarly I love accompanying the women to the shoe store; Nancy and Sue love shoes and frequent a wonderful boutique owned by a woman, Margie, who, like us, is in a Female-Led Relationship. Her shop is for women only, but men accompanying them are welcome, provided they sit quietly and patiently while shoes are tried on – her average customer tries seven pairs. Margie doesn't tolerate anything other than good behavior from men, and those who behave otherwise are firmly told to leave.

I find the shop fascinating and love wandering through the displays.  Seeing the endless variety of colors, styles, and heel heights is intoxicating; even the most jaded male has to realize why women want – no absolutely need – so many pairs of shoes! Women's shoes are an absolute work of art. Black pumps say, “I'm powerful!” The taupe peek-toe pumps say that the wearer is not just an accountant. The four-inch red sandals shout, “Party time!”

Nancy and her mother always find and buy at least one pair of shoes at this shop. Nancy says she is spending my money on shoes; she is, and I can't think of a better thing to do with it or a better way to worship her. I even worked at this shoe boutique for a few weekends when one of Margie's regular employees was off sick. It was a great experience--and a great opportunity to serve Margie as well as a few of her customers.  As a token of her appreciation for my helping her, she gave me a shoe calendar that is on my desk at work. It's 365 shoes, some traditional and others definitely avant-garde; all a celebration of women and a reminder of their superiority.

I have a reputation for knowing women's fashion, and a few months back was asked by a man at work for some help in selecting a gift for his wife, a friend of Nancy who knows of our lifestyle. This husband decided, or more likely his wife suggested, a nice outfit for work.  At a local mall I steered him into the women's department at Macy's and started pulling together options. As we moved through the racks, it was obvious that the guy didn't have a clue, so I matched a plaid skirt with a black jacket, and picked a feminine blouse. Thinking we were done, he was taking me to the checkout, but I steered him to hosiery where I picked pantyhose appropriate to a business outfit – and I made him carry the pantyhose.  Then to accessories for a nice necklace and finally to jewelry for a “chunky” watch.  Not done yet, we went to fragrances and bought her a small bottle of Chanel.

We finally checked out. The outfit and accessories cost him more than $800.  He met his objective of getting a gift for his wife and I met mine. I wanted to get her a great outfit that cost the husband as much money as I could.  I met these goals, plus I enjoyed the shopping experience.  On the way home Mr. Macho, obviously irritated by my shopping directives, told me, “If I didn't know you were married, I'd think you were a queer. You shop like a girl.”

I thanked him for the compliment. A few weeks later I ran into this guy's wife. She told me she'd heard that I'd helped Tom shop for her birthday gift and she said it was perfect -- “right down to the perfume and pantyhose.” I told her that, had I known her shoe size, she would have gotten a nice pair of pumps out of the deal,

“Size 7 medium for next time,” she told me with a chuckle.