I know you think the title of this post will likely lead to a celebration of the Prince Harry’s upcoming nuptials– sadly you will be disappointed, so if you were expecting royal commentary I won’t blame you if you leave now.
Nope?
Yesterday my husband went to buy a suit. Without me.
Men, always take your significant other with you when buying something of this magnitude. Otherwise, it will have a high tendency to be something you will live to regret.
Husband set off in high spirits to visit the tailor. He chose the fabric and sent me a picture. To which I replied in abject horror: ‘I have to admit that I do not like this. At all.’
I considered the subject closed.
I arrived home to him admitting sheepishly, that he had not read my messages and it was a done deal.
I fixed him with a steely glare. There was a pregnant pause.
“I’ll just call them then?”
I continued to glare.
He made the call, to which I listened:
“Hi, I was just in about a suit. Yes, well, my wife saw the material and doesn’t like it (pause while tailor inquired as to my reaction). Um, hideous was the word she used. (Tailor laughter bursts through the phone). So, can I choose a new material? Yes? Great. What? Yes. Yes. You’re right, I’ll bring her in this time.”
Anyway, we both know the suit he really wants is David Tennant’s from Doctor Who.
The Blurred Line 