She walks sheepishly from the changing room and down the hall, tugging the dress around her hips, tugging at the tag under her arm. She leans her head out and locates her husband. Enraptured by a video playing quietly on his phone, he made himself at home in a chair, cozy in his wait.
“Well?” She presents herself, throws her arms out at her sides like sinking arrows.
He glances up and smiles at her face without inspecting the dress. “Do you like it?”
“Do you like it?” She counters, arching an eyebrow.
“I don’t know about dresses. I know you’re beautiful.”
“You don’t think it’s too tight?”
“Whatever you want. You always look good to me…” He trails off with a grin.
She blushes in the ill-fitting garment, glowing at his lack of critique, “I don’t think it fits very well.”
“Whatever you think, honey.” The artful dodger looks down to his phone, as she bounds happily toward the room that holds her discarded clothes.
En route she can’t help but brag to the bored Fitting Room Attendant. “And we’ve been married twelve years!”