Like most husbands and boyfriends I have been dragged into so many shopping malls and clothing stores, and like most husbands, it’s because we’ve done something wrong and found guilty as charged.So, for our punishment, we have to feebly stand around holding the shopping bags while the entire spring collection is tried on, and even worse still … taken to the cashier.While I’m outside the changing rooms holding de wife’s handbag — which, by the way clashes with my shoes — I like to have a day dream to kill time by trying to figure out what the other poor husbands have done wrong that has put them in the same situation as meHey, you over there, you didn’t put the seat down when you finished did you? Look over yonder by cubicle four, yup, that’s a guilty face if ever I saw one — probably forgot the Anniversary, and that guy over at cubicle five … well, he’s smiling.Only us husbands know what that’s all about. You see he’s actually our unsung hero — he’s the one that bad mouthed his mother-in-law and as far as he’s concerned, the crime was worth the punishment.The other down side of being dragged around shopping is the dreaded question.Yes, I see all men now gnashing their teeth. We know what it is ... it’s the “does this dress make my butt look big?” question as she twirls around in front of the mirrors.You might as well kiss goodbye to watching next week’s match as well; this is not going to end pretty.Of course the guy with the big smile, he who has nothing to lose, would reply: “No honey, that dress doesn’t make your butt look big. The dress has nothing to do with it.”Ha! If I had said that ... well let’s put it this way, the next time I get measured for a suit and the tailor asks me “and which side does the gentleman dress on?”, let’s just say it would be an irrelevant question.This time though I decided I was going to stand my ground, fight for my rights, this is where it ends. I’m not going to be pushed around anymore, at least not without the old battle axe’s consent.Question was, how was I going to get out of this? Well I’m not about to tell her that I’m not going shopping any more with her, that would be a suicide mission, so I laid out a plan.Next Saturday morning rolls around and my bliss was broken by my wife’s dulcet tones summoning me to go shopping. “Hey baldy, I’m going to buy a new dress and you’re coming,” she barked.I immediately responded: “But Arsenal are playing.” “Tough,” came the ready reply.Forty-five minutes later I find myself holding the old bag’s bag, while she was picking up every dress on the rack.Finally, it was narrowed down to half a dozen and off to the fitting room she goes as I go into my usual ritual of standing guard outside with the rest of the worn-down, loser husbands.Now, being it was a Saturday morning and the store was having a sale, there was a fair queue outside the changing rooms. A perfect opportunity to put my plan into action.Just as one of the cubicles became free, I managed to slip in and close the door. This was followed by a curt: “Excuse me; this is the women’s changing room.”“Yeah, yeah — don’t get your knickers in a twist lady, I won’t be a minute.” I waited for a couple of seconds and shouted in a loud voice to my wife a few cubicles over: “Honey, this one seems to have run out of toilet paper. Can I borrow some of yours?”There was a loud gasp from everyone within ear shot quickly followed by a pounding on the door from the wife ordering me to ‘get out of there right now’, which I obediently did.I was then called an ‘idiot’ and numerous other names by my little “piranha fish” and told to ‘get the hell out and go and watch my stupid game’.Needless to say, I was also banned from the store. Yes, another victory. He shoots, he scores.