So, I was in this dress store the other day…

Yeah, I was. I was in a dress store. David’s Bridal in Albany, to be exact. A store where dresses are sold, browsed, worshiped, measured, tried on, hemmed, sewn, gushed-over, whatever – all the things women do with dresses.

And I was there.  With the dresses.  And the ladies who sell dresses.  And the ladies who go with the other ladies who are going to the dress store to try on a dress or two or seven for a wedding or a prom or a wedding-prom or a pageant or whatever the @#$%&!-ing thing it is which compels them to buy yet another dress.

Ahem.

I should state – for the record – that the reason which brought me to the dress store is a wonderful reason.  One of my three brothers will be married to a wonderful woman in October, and my two daughters are going to be the flower girls, and as such will require dresses.  All good stuff.  If you know me, then you know that my bluster and snark will melt away into tears of joy that day.

But that day is in the future, and was not top of mind as I entered the dress store.  And let’s be clear on the fact that this was not a cute little dress shop, but instead a big-box, chain dress STORE.  It is yucky, but what is one to do?  My kids need dresses, and the selection at DB suited our needs. A four- and two-year old can be hard to contain in a public space, so this was a two-parent adventure.  Especially when you consider how much expensive damage could be done by a precocious, rambunctious kid like our youngest.

The dresses my wife picked out were great, just beautiful.  The kids loved them and they – for the most part – behaved.  No incidents, no milk spilled on a $5,000 dress and all is well.  Except daddy.

There was one other male in the joint, and we appeared to be a father of a bride or at least father of a female for whom he was buying a dress.  He was fortunate enough to find a comfortable chair where he could squat.  He just chilled out, hidden behind a mirror and a rack of dresses and took a nap.

I was not so lucky.  My mission was to keep the kiddos from causing any damage or performing any temper tantrums.  As great as my kids are, they are kids.  Damage and temper tantrums are coins of their realms.  In between keeping the little one from spilling milk on dresses and shoes, and helping get them in and out of their outfits and their potential dresses, I just tweeted a little…

and read whatever was new on the Viigo app on my Blackberry.

But here’s the thing – what overwhelmed me was a feeling of not belonging.  Being out of place.  Being where I should not be.  Or perhaps where I’m not welcome.  Not sure.

This is kind of why I’m writing this post.  I wonder what the women in that shop thought when they saw the four of us walk in.  You’re there, doing the dress thing for you, a friend or a relative and me, my great wife, and my two superstar kiddos saunter into the joint.  The three females fit in, but here’s this dude.  This dude, chilling with his Blackberry while the kids get measured, while the female thing happens.  Does that guy annoy you?

This is what the comments are for…