Last night we had a babysitter, so Dave and I went to the mall to try out Elevation Burger (Elevation Burger was FANTASTIC). Then, because the restaurant was in the mall and because we were finished eating at 7:25 and because our babysitter gets REALLY IRRITABLE if we come home before 9pm and/or with grocery bags (which apparently indicate that we run ERRANDS on date night, and errands are FORBIDDEN on date night according to our babysitter) (our babysitter is Dave's mom and she has STANDARDS), we walked around the mall.
Dave is inside a mall maybe – MAYBE – once a year. This is normal for some people, I guess? It is normal for him, because A) he works all day, B) he hates shopping, and so naturally C) I do the mall-ing for us, when it needs to be done, and I do it while he's at work. So there were some surprises in the mall for Dave! Like that Brookstone is still exactly where it was 20 years ago when he worked there, and that you have to PAY to visit Santa (well, if you want a picture, I guess, but who visits and DOESN'T want a commemorative picture?) and that you must avoid the kiosk workers AT ALL COSTS.
Is this true at your mall? I learned this the hard way once, by being polite to a kiosk person. They're pushy and over-the-top and they will FOLLOW you if they sense that following you may give you even the tiniest moment of hesitation, which is when they will POUNCE and then you are TOAST. You are TOAST, if you hesitate! There's one kiosk at the mall with hair extensions and I SWEAR TO YOU, the women who work there will come AFTER you if you even so much as SLOW DOWN and your hair will be in six inches longer and piled into a bedazzled updo before you can say WEAVE.
Sure enough, as we walked by the sea scrub/hand lotion kiosk, some overzealous dude was out there luring people in with free samples and Dave FELL FOR IT. I kept walking! Me, the person who cannot extract herself from a conversation for the LIFE of her; I managed it. I said NO, NO NO NO, no thank you, because I have been sucked IN by the sea scrub/hand lotion people before, and it takes about .006 seconds before they are manhandling you and buffing your nails and insisting you purchase a tub of cream the size of your head for $60.
Anyway, Dave hesitated. He hesitated and the dude pounced and I kept walking. I LEFT HIM THERE. Fend for yourself, I thought. I stopped a few yards away and the kiosk guy is beckoning for me to come back and I won't. I WON'T and I keep thinking Dave is going to say no thanks and extricate himself from the whole thing, but he ISN'T saying no thanks, he is standing there and talking to the kiosk guy.
You guys, two seconds later, I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING, this guy is exfoliating Dave's hands with some sort of sea salt rub. BOTH HANDS. See what I mean with the aggressiveness? And Dave is clearly uncomfortable; a MAN is MASSAGING HIS HANDS. He is NOT LIKING IT. He is feeling VERY AWKWARD. (For reference, Dave still describes the pedicure I talked him into on our honeymoon as “torture” and that was a procedure performed by a very lovely WOMAN, which made it about 1000 percent more enjoyable, he says.)
I was laughing so hard that I had to go into a store to wait it out. A few minutes later I can tell the guy is showing Dave how to buff his nails (DAVE – the guy to whom “grooming” means “showering and applying deodorant”) because from all the way in the back of the store I hear him out in the hallway: “Wait, you're only doing one nail? What am I going to do with ONE shiny nail?!” Hearing that encouraged me to make my way to the FRONT of the store, where through the window I watch as my husband is having his hands lovingly rinsed off and dried by the kiosk guy. And he looks SO uncomfortable, because as this guy continues his sales pitch and continues assuring my husband that he NEEDS soft, moisturized hands (“for your WIFE! Think of your WIFE!” he says often) he just... HOLDS DAVE'S HANDS. Just holds them. In his hands. Sweetly. And massages them. This went on for close to 15 minutes. FIFTEEN MINUTES my husband stood there and was polite and let this man hold hands with him and buff him and roll up his shirt sleeves for him (HE DID THAT) and lecture him about grooming. I was nearly delirious with delight. And as amusing as it was, it still wasn't enough for us to spend $75 (yes, SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS) on a tub of salt scrub from the Dead Sea. No, thank you. Which, you know, is what I said RIGHT AT THE BEGINNING.
Though to be honest, Dave's hands WERE really nice and soft, but I think he'd rather them crack and bleed before he did that all over again. And I am REALLY regretting not taking a video.
Care to share what you might be getting a man in your life for Christmas? Dave is the hardest person in the world to buy for. If you have some sort of brilliant idea that you don't mind sharing, I WOULD LOVE THAT. At the very least, perhaps it could lead me down some paths I haven't yet started down? I WOULD OWE YOU. I would.