The Relationship Chronicles: Understanding how women shop and love

To be clear, I'm not sold on buying my wedding dress at Neiman Marcus. I told B-friend this clearly before we entered the store and that I had no idea what kind of dress I wanted to wear; I needed ideas. I wanted to see what I liked, so that I could go find cheaper knockoffs somewhere else.

Not-so-subtly, I reached for the tag in each dress that looked remotely interesting to determine its designer and how much I'd have to win at Lotto to buy it. I don't see this exercise as a waste of time; this is what I do at all stores I browse. I look at everything and hope to find an incredible deal on an imperfect, out-of-season Vera Wang.

"Forty three hundred dollars! Put it down, Jory!"

"I'm still looking at it."

"Not any longer you're not. Put it down ... In fact, let's get out of here."

"We just got here!

B-friend was starting to sweat. He's been getting like this since he was confronted with weddings at retail value. He panicked when we looked at venues, when we found a caterer, when we assessed our dessert options. He acts like he never knew that weddings cost money. He also doesn't understand or trust my approach to wedding shopping: You look for what you like, and then you figure out how to get it for less.

Now I'm holding a dress for $8,000. It's not a firearm, just a dress; but my proximity to the Caroline Hererra label was making him nervous.

"I mean it, Jory. Put it down!"

"You know, maybe you shouldn't have come with me then!"

I found myself getting angry with B-friend--did he think that I was going to lose myself and charge a $10,000 dress in a moment of weakness? It seemed that every step of the way B-friend assumed I would put us into massive debt. And yet, when B-friend stops in the middle of the street to ogle a $100,000 car I don't worry that he's going to buy one for himself when I'm not looking.

This situation was a metaphor for a larger, more fundamental disagreement between us. I believe I'm more comfortable with the extremes, of playing with the possibilities, while he puts more faith in the black and white.

A friend of mine, a relationship author and expert, described to me how she imagines herself married to every man she dates--she affixes her first name to his surname and repeats it to herself; she imagines going home to him every night and growing old with him.

"It really doesn't MEAN anything," she insists. "I'm only trying it on. It's part of my process in order to know what I want." I hope she doesn't let the men she dates know she does this; I'm sure they'd leave her in a heartbeat.

I said to B-friend with disgust in my voice, "You just don't trust me!" meaning, "You don't understand my process. I need to look at these dresses, maybe even try one on, get inspired, examine all of the possibilities, and then decide if I make this a reality or move on." I have to mentally exhaust all of the permutations--even the outrageous ones--before settling on the best one. Don't men do that before finding the woman they decide to marry? At least women tend to do this with clothing only, not people.

The tension thickened when an ex boyfriend that I haven't seen in years called. He planned to be in town for business and wanted to meet up. Because we've always practiced ex-relationship transparency I told B-friend about it.

"Did you tell him you're getting married?"

"I was running out the door and told him I'd call him back. We got in maybe five minutes of conversation."

"That's plenty of time to tell him."

"What was I supposed to say? 'Oh hi! Long time no see--I'm getting married--talk to you later?"

"Absolutely. Let him know right away."

"Don't you trust that if I sit down with him that I'll mention it. It's just lunch!"

"He's a man. He's checking it out."

"Oh please."

"I want to come with you. He needs to see me."

"That's not realistic."

"Tell him you're bringing your fiance."

The ex did call back. And we spoke for maybe a minute before he had to run. We couldn't catch up this time around, but maybe another time when he was in town, he said. Dare I say I felt relieved, like I'd veered away from the Oscar de la Renta display and avoided a fight.

B-friend ought to know: of course I'll look and interact. But putting down plastic is a whole different story.