Earlier this week, Shlomo and I celebrated his birthday in Chicago. It was chilly. When I left, it was 7:00 in the morning and already 84 degrees in Houston. When I landed, it was 66 degrees in Chicago with a strong chance of rain. This did not make me sad. I will be honest, I had a new rain jacket that I was dying to wear. Shlomo had been to a conference there that ended on his birthday. I showed up on his birthday so we would have the afternoon and evening in the Windy City. We had the following morning, as well. But, for me it was a very fast trip.
So, in our afternoon of shopping and visiting art galleries (note: visiting galleries, not buying…damn recession), I suggested to Shlomo that since we were in a city that might actually have jackets in the stores (as opposed to Houston where it is hard to find anything larger than a speedo in the summer months), he should look for one to take on our trip to Alaska later this summer. In our first stop, we found one. It was what I had in mind, actually. In fact, I told him to ask for it specifically. I thought he would like it. He did. It was reasonably priced. Shlomo was thrilled to not have to go to 90 other stores looking at jackets.
Poor Shlomo, he did not realize that 90 other stores were what I had planned for the afternoon. But, it was a bit nippy and he put it on—especially if we were walking in the shade. So, we are walking down Michigan Avenue doing a little window shopping. I hoped it would be actual shopping, but nothing jumped out at me. Suddenly, I hear someone shouting, "Anshel! Anshel! Anshel!" It was one of my best friends from back home. I knew she and her husband were going to be in Chicago that week, but I knew how fast my trip was and how much I wanted to do. As a result, I made the choice to not tell her and let fate decide if I saw her or not. Fate clearly felt we should see them. So, we visited outside Burberry for a few minutes and went our separate ways. Seriously! It is a small world. And, clearly I cannot escape Yokelville no matter where I go or what I do.
We went into a couple of more stores slowly meandering down to the original Marshall Field's (which is sadly now a Macy's). Specifically, I wanted to see the glass mosaic dome by Louis Comfort Tiffany that was built towering 7 stories over what is now the cosmetics section. This term, I am writing a research paper on LCT and thought this would me an important piece to include. Simply, it is amazing. Also, on a brighter note, I found a pair of pajama bottoms that I had been wanting for 40% off. That alone made getting up at 5:00 a.m. to catch a plane to fly pretty much from the southern to the northern borders of the US worth it. Seriously, that $12 savings made it all worthwhile.
In case you did not know, Shlomo is not a patient shopper. Unless it is for him. Then he has all the time in the world. He had gone outside to wait on me. Also, I think to ensure that I would look at nothing else. Yeah, Shlomo. I had had three hours sleep. I needed a nap, too. So, I get outside and we walk towards the hotel. We had made it about half a block when I noticed that his new jacket looked somehow different. We stopped to wait to cross the street and I realized what it was. The conversation went something like this.
Me: Is your jacket on wrong side out?
Shlomo: I don't think so.
Me: Then all of the seams are on the outside.
Shlomo: Well, I guess the label is on the outside. (He changes his jacket to be worn the right way.)
Me: Dumbass.
I guess I should clear a few things up. Yes, there is an embroidered item on the back of the collar that says the name of the brand. Sadly, it is not Armani. Second, "Dumbass" is and always has been a term of affection in my family.
So, we went to the hotel. We rested. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner at Joe's Stone Crab. I ate so much. Shlomo ate so much. We went back to the hotel and crashed. Yep, asleep by 11:00. Our wild nightlife never ends.
The next morning, we got up and were headed in the rain (yippee! Another justification to wear my jacket!) to the Art Institute. I spent last semester researching Seurat and wanted to view Sunday on the Isle of La Grande Jatte—1884 one more time. It was an eight block walk. We made it about half of a block and Shlomo managed to—how shall I put this delicately—totally mess up the zipper of his new jacket. The jacket has a double zipper pull so if you are cool, happening, and have a flat belly you can unzip it a bit from the bottom to look cool. As I think all three of things are overrated and Shlomo is/has none of them, one zipper pull would be sufficient. So, I look at him and the bottom of one side of the jacket is zipped so it lines up with the middle of the other side. Thus, it left at least half of his stomach exposed. Seriously, where was my camera?
So, not full of patience and maybe using a lovely moniker from the day before, I offered demanded to help. God punished me. I am trying to unzip the jacket and balance my umbrella under my chin. A gust of wind (it is the windy city, after all) blows my umbrella inside out and breaks three of the spokes. Yep, I am screwed. Conversation like this:
Me: There's a cab. We are getting in, fixing your jacket, and going to my mecca to get me another umbrella. (I loved that umbrella. It was substantial enough not to lose it, but small enough to fit in my bookbag/suitcase and take no room. And, I figured out a long time ago that $5 ones from the drugstore are good for one, maybe two rainy days.)
Shlomo: What about the Museum?
Me: Screw the museum. I am getting wet.
So, we get to the store at 9:58. They open at 10:00. Conveniently, there was covered walkway where we actually fixed Shlomo's zipper. Yep, pretty proud of myself. I unstuck a zipper. Higher education pays. We are walking to the store…and by to the store, I mean in front of three windows…Shlomo decides to zip his jacket. Same exact thing. I walk in and turned him over to the first salesgirl I saw. This was about me. I needed an umbrella. Shlomo should have learned about zippers in the first grade. I am no first grade teacher.
I found a similar umbrella. I kid you not, it was three times as much. Also, it was in the women's section, but a black umbrella is a black umbrella. I did not get it. I said I would go up to menswear on the sixth floor to get one exactly like the one I had. Shlomo opted to stay on the first floor to get directions to a breakfast place. I was gone a while. I thought Shlomo would be coming up. He never did. To his chagrin, I managed to spend the price differential plus $10 on the coolest hat. (FYI: I make Hugh Grant look tan. Skin cancer prevention is very important to me. Not as important as being stylish, but important, nonetheless.) Shlomo claims to hate said hat. I don't care. I love it. I have a big head. I have to buy a hat when I find one I like that fits. Seriously, it's an XL. Further proof of my big head is I have a picture of me, Shlomo, and Jane Fonda. My head is like three times the size of hers.
So, we ate breakfast and returned home. Shlomo had a very happy birthday. Well, he better have had one. He claims to. Personally, I was glad it was successful. It also means we could start focusing on my birthday. I am totally a juvenile about gifts. I made Shlomo open his antique wine decanter a month ago. I think I deserve mine early. Finally, today, Shlomo relented. He gave me the most beautiful tuxedo set (cufflinks and studs) made of coral. I cannot wait to wear it. I am considering wearing my tuxedo around the house tomorrow in fact. I don't know where he ever got the idea. It is all I have talked about for weeks. I mention it every time we drive by the antique store where we found them. As it is about three blocks from our house, I think he bought them just to shut me up. I know I am horrible on the gift receiving front. I have no patience and I hate surprises. I blame my mother.
Still (don't read further if you do not have a strong gag reflex), my greatest gift is Shlomo himself. He constantly makes me laugh—both with and at him. He brings so much joy to my life that I don't want to think about it without him. When I wake up on July 5 in a new Nielsen demographic for the first time in 17 years, I will know that middle age is okay because I get to share it with someone as great as Shlomo.
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