I’d envisioned a Pretty Woman moment. Maybe me spinning around in a circle in front of five different sales people as they all oohed and aahed at how everything I put on seemed to be made for me.
It’s was lot less fun.
Jack has me dressed and at the mall, attacking shopping like one would go after a squirrel as if it’s his last meal. We go from store to store, and him never once asking my opinion. The fact that I’ll be the one wearing the clothes doesn’t seem to cross his mind.
He plows through the racks as I follow him like a glorified assistant, my arms out as he piles them with underwear, bras, a phone charger, and few jeans and shirts. Expensive jeans, but not his level of expensive jeans. There’re a few exchanges of words, like when he rummages through the sizes and holds one up in
