It's not a good thing when your girlfriend looks at you with a "Really? Did you just say that?" look on her face when you're talking about clothes. It's especially awkward when it's not following a "Your ass looks huge in those pants" statement, but rather a "Well, it pulls a little here, but otherwise it's great and would go wicked with those white pants and your new heels."
After a day of shopping, primarily for her, I'm betting Sarah is a little less sure about me as her prospective husband. She's also maybe a little more sure that I could very well end up as the next host of TLC's What Not To Wear, replacing the stylish Clinton Kelly next to the somewhat annoying Stacy London.
I think I freaked her out a little bit today with how much insight I had into her wardrobe options, piece selections and general comments about which shoes go with which pants and how everyone looks good in a wrap dress. After arguing with me when I told her to try it on, the wrap dress that is, she apologized for her earlier comments as she carried it to the cash register.
In all honesty, Sarah and I have often joked that we have somewhat reversed gender roles in our relationship - not in the way you're thinking you sick bastards! She's good with electrical and mechanical things like hooking up the satellite and fixing the broken toilet, while I excel at, well, girly shit like picking outfits and interior design. Whatever, we're good with it.
My defense to it all, aside from the fact that I just have a generally outstanding sense of fashion and design is that I write for a Female Life / Style / Culture magazine at Passion.
What can I say? I'm just a diverse, metrosexual bastard with zero aptitude for socket wrenches and electronics.