The Chair of Shame

Don't get me wrong, working from home is wonderful.

There are plenty of advantages. I don't have to drive 30 miles to the office, make nice with coworkers, or pack a lunch. And, perhaps best of all, I can work in my pajama bottoms.

The downside is that occasionally, I need to go to the office for one reason or another. This coming Monday is one of those times. 

"I'd better try on my dress pants," I said to Mr. Ginley. "I've put on a little weight, so I need to make sure something fits."

Add one more downside to working from home. 

All of which means we'll be heading to Kohl's to find a pair of work pants that won't make me look like a stuffed sausage. And because I'm dragging Mr. with me, he will need to prepare for his stint in The Chair of Shame.

I recently alluded to this when talking to my brother-in-law, John, a few weeks ago. 

"What is The Chair of Shame?" he wanted to know.

It's the chair outside the women's dressing room, where Mr. waits patiently, holding my purse, while I try on several items. I model them for him, and he provides a thumbs up/thumbs down to each article of clothing.

He's pretty good at this, commenting things like, "That works" or "Makes your butt look big" or simply "Nope, not gonna happen."

Truly, he does not mind doing this, but he does draw disapproving looks from other shoppers, who eye the old guy in the chair holding a purse as being henpecked, having cognitive issues, or being a pervert. 

Since it's been quite some time since I shopped for nice clothes, I suggested Mr. Ginley prepare for our shopping trip. As part of the warm-up, he:

• Assumed the Position: We recreated the scene in our dining room (see photo).
• Chose the Look: Arranged his facial expression to elicit sympathy rather than fear/disgust from other shoppers.
• Practiced Quipping: Chose some snappy comebacks to raised eyebrows such as, "I'm waiting for my wife" or "Good day to you, madam," or simply calling out, "How are you doing in there, honey?"

Things are going quite well, and we discovered that, like riding a bike, sitting in The Chair of Shame is a talent that comes right back to you.

No need to tell him I'm shopping for underwear today, too. 

P.S. Alas, no chair of shame. Only a wall of mortification: