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The next day was...aggravating. It might have had
something to do with
his mother's impending arrival (I think that was part of it), but a
word to the wise; don't ever go shopping for clothes with Michael
Black. Jesus, what a disaster.
It was around 10am when we went out to the first store, where I was
shown a whole parade of designer (not to mention completely hideous)
clothing in a private dressing room. I dismissed pretty much every item
they came to show me, which irritated Michael no end.
"I'm paying for this! Why are you being difficult?" he'd hissed when we
were left alone for a few seconds.
"I have to wear it! Why are you trying to dress me up like Barbie's
boyfriend?" I'd retorted, opting for a more mainstream casual wear.
He wanted me to wear cashmere sweaters, stupid pants and black shiny
shoes (even George Bush would reject them for their boring design),
because he thought it would please his mother.
We settled on a compromise; I'd wear the damn cashmere, and he could
pick out a few pairs of designer jeans, in any color or fit he liked, I
didn't care. We'd go elsewhere for shoes.
Fine; next store, same crap. Okay, they had some nice shirts. But when I
couldn't choose, he simply bought the whole line out of sheer
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