Being a Good Sport

When the husband returned from his business trip to Texas, he brought back a pair of nice goggles for the youngest daughter.  She's an otter in the water, but she must have goggles since her eyes are easily irritated by chlorine.  The first thing she asked upon receiving the goggles Monday afternoon when she returned home from school was when I would take her to the local leisure centre's indoor pool facility for a test run. Since it's no fun to swim alone, I let her ask a friend to accompany us.  And no, I'm not about to squeeze my pasty white body into a swimsuit.  I'm perfectly happy taking along a book to read in the sauna like atmosphere of the viewing area - good for the pores, dontcha know.  

Unfortunately, this has tied me up on Saturday, the day my oldest daughter absolutely MUST go into London for a bit of shopping on Oxford Street.  She has been invited to some senior's birthday party - a Young Life friend so no hardcore naughtiness on the horizon, I hope - and that requires a new party dress.  It's the week after we return from Rome and since we depart next weekend for winter break, that leaves her no time to scoot into London for a look-see in the stores.  The local shops are fine, but she has been pestering me to hit the Topshop because she just loves that place.  Everything is super cheap, but that doesn't matter because pretty much everything looks good on you when you're sixteen.  

So guess who has pulled shopping duty with the teen... the husband!  I think he's taking it like a man, which can mainly be attributed to the fact that there is a mammoth Apple store in the same block where the teen wants to shop.  And I imagine there must be a multi-story Waterstone's bookstore around there somewhere.  That is plenty to keep him occupied while the teen snoops through rack upon rack of clothes.  He'll get all engrossed in some World War II history book or Napoleon biography and be entertained for hours on end.  The only thing required of him will be answering his phone and trotting over to pay for the usual 2-3 articles of clothing that have been culled from a stack of about 55 items she took into the dressing room.