The Shopping Trip

Monica took a long sip from the plastic champagne flute that the greeter at the boutique handed to her when she first walked in the door a little more than an hour ago. She drained the last of her third mimosa as she walked around the little shop. Her eyes, which shined like two giant blue pools of wonder, bathed every garment on display with adoration. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stopped to inspect every inch of the crisp, white dresses that were wrapped around the headless mannequins that stood about the store like silent, mischievous imps. Each one beckoning her to try their dress on. Each one representing the promise of hope, happiness and true love. Everything that seemed to have eluded her all her life, and if possible, slipped even further away then ever before.

One dress finally captured her complete attention and had her knees weaken as she silently swooned. It looked perfect. It was as if all the magazine clippings of dresses she had found, tore out, and stuck into her wedding book, came to life and shared all their best attributes, just so this dress would be here, standing before her, at this very moment. She leaned in close and inspected every thread as she tried to find even the most imperceptible of blemishes. She then turned to Chandler.

"How much did we win last night?"

Chandler carefully pulled the price tag that was attached to the waist and flipped it around as he scrutinized the numbers that were scribbled down on the label. "Not enough to buy this." He dropped the tag quickly and then looked at Monica with incredulous eyes. "What are we doing here anyway? You aren't really thinking about wearing a wedding dress to my father's club, are you?"

Monica laughed defensively. "Noooo. Of course not. I just wanted to look around and get some free drinks."

Chandler jumped back as seemingly, out of nowhere, a saleswoman appeared from behind the sea of white dresses. His eyes widened and he stumbled back as he tried to peer behind her and see if anyone else was coming out.

The woman smiled at Monica and lightly touched the fabric of the dress in front of her. "Would you like to try this on?"

Monica scoffed. "What?" She turned her eyes towards the saleswoman and smiled. Yet, before she could refuse, her face became still and earnest. "Yes I would like to try it on."

Chandler caught her eye and let his own grow wide with confusion. He tried to convey how bad the idea of actually trying on a five-thousand-dollar dress was with just a look. Monica waved him off frantically, and then held up her glass.

"Oh, and can I get another one of these?"

Chandler stretched his legs out as he checked his watch. Never in his life could he have envisioned himself being in a wedding dress boutique for five minutes, let alone two hours. He shook his head and sighed as he tried to contend with the boredom that enveloped him. At first, he looked down and scoffed at the wedding magazines that were lined up on the table in front of him. He chuckled at the thought of resorting to looking through one of them while he waited for Monica to reemerge from the changing room. That was forty-five minutes and three magazines ago. Now, he was wondering if he should finish the article on do-it-yourself flower arrangements, or if he should find out what kind of wedding dress he was by answering a short quiz.

He sat back and looked around at the dresses that were on display. The headless, armless mannequins all dressed in nuptial white. This was a literal house of horrors for him. A room full of lifeless brides-to-be with no head or heart or personality, but they were all dressed, ready to commit to eternity. He let his dark fantasy play out in his mind as a form of torture. He imagined them uprooting themselves from their stands and lumbering towards him. Surrounding him as each one nudged him forward, forcing him to stand up and walk down the aisle so he could take part in some nightmare wedding. That didn't seem any more farfetched to Chandler as anyone actively entering in the one institution he knew was destined for failure.

Marriage.

He knew his disdain for marriage might be a bit cliché, but he had yet to see one up close that wasn't an unmitigated disaster. His parents' union was the gold standard of failed marriages. Bickering, fighting, infidelity, using their child as a pawn as they attempted to manipulate each other, wasting money on lawyers and second homes, cavalierly flaunting their sexual conquest in each other's face, and subsequently, in Chandler's face. It was a horror show. Every day they became more relentless, bitter, and cruel. After that, he would never understand how any two people who thought they loved each other would do that to themselves willingly. Risk all the promise of their relationship on one big party. Just so, years later, they could one day scratch and claw at each other until they were no longer Mr. and Mrs.

Then there was Ross. Sure, he was with Rachel now, but like some odd version of marriage scrabble, they were a triple play threat. Ross and Carol; divorce. Rachel and Barry; runaway bride. Going simply by the percentages, Chandler had no doubt that Barry and Mindy were already calling divorce lawyers. Even if somehow Ross and Rachel managed to make it to a wedding day, what were the odds they would survive? No, he knew even they would be tested, and were no doubt destined to crash and burn.

Marriage was a racket that only a true masochist would attempt to endure.

"Okay, how do I look."

Chandler's head snapped up but before Monica could move into view, the saleswoman reached her arm out to stop her.

"Oh no! The groom can't see the bride in her dress before the wedding!"

Monica scoffed and chuckled. "What? That's not the groom. That's Chandler."

"Oh, okay. That makes sense. I thought he was, well, you know, he kind of, uh, has this quality, right?"

Chandler stood up and gestured at the saleswoman. "What!"

Before Chandler could continue with his protesting, Monica stepped out into the showroom. She looked down at herself quickly and smiled. Chandler's jaw dropped to the floor as she walked into the light and stepped up on the platform in front of three mirrors.

The dress was the whitest thing he had ever seen. So crisp and clean he thought it might blind him. Yet, the color was no more blinding than her smile as she ran her hands down her stomach. It hugged her chest and waist showing off her fit form. It lovingly wrapped itself around her hips, but also seemed to give her more that enough room below the waist to move, twist, and no doubt dance the night away at her reception. As his eyes traveled down her legs, he saw how it flared out at the knees and made her look as if she were walking on a cloud. She was born to wear that dress.

"Wow…you look…."

"I know!" Monica stared at herself once more, and then turned to see how her back looked.

"This looks perfect on you. Should I ring this up?"

Monica smirked as she glanced quickly at the saleswoman. She then looked at Chandler wide-eyed, like a child silently begging their parents to buy them just this one, magical, life-changing toy. Chandler somberly closed his eyes and shook his head. Monica frowned in response and Chandler stepped quickly between her and the saleswoman.

"You know what? I think we just need another few minutes to look at it privately. Is that okay?" He then looked at Monica as he grabbed the empty champagne flute. "Mon? Refill?" Chandler handed the glass over to the saleswoman. She nodded and stepped away.

"Monica. You cannot buy this dress."

"Why not?"

"Because it's insane. You aren't even getting married."

"I know that!" Monica continued to study her body in the mirror.

"Mon."

"I know. I know. I just wish there was a job where I could wear this all day."

Chandler pointed at the mannequins. "There is, but the competition is steep, and headless."

Monica rolled her eyes.

Chandler stood still for a moment and caught her eye in the mirror. "You look gorgeous."

Monica smiled and looked back at his reflection. "You really think so?"

"Mon, how you look right now, it's why they invented weddings."

Monica felt her cheeks grow warm as she blushed and looked down. For a moment, a satisfied smile spread across her lips, but it soon faded as a sullen look fell across her face.

Chandler picked up on her change of mood and stepped towards her as he reached out and took her hand in his. "What?"

"My mother's right. I'm never going to get married."

"What? That's…who wouldn't want you?"

She turned, her eyes down and she took a deep breath. "Did I make a mistake?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Richard."

Chandler's shoulders slumped as he bathed her with sympathetic eyes. "Honey. I don't even know what happened between you and Richard and why he isn't here instead of me."

"He doesn't want kids. Not really. Am I being stupid? Throwing away what I have for something I don't even know I will find? What's the saying, a bird in the bush is a bird in the hand?"

"I don't think….you know what? Sure. Let's go with that."

"What if…what if he is the one I am supposed to be with, and I gave him up for a stupid reason?"

"Oh, Mon." Chandler looked down, unsure of what to say, and he squeezed her hand gently in his.

Monica pulled away and looked back at herself in the mirror. "No, I know. You can't tell me that. You don't believe in all that stuff."

Chandler let out a breath that was half a chuckle. "I believe in you."

She turned up again and looked at his reflection once more.

"Mon, if you really thought this was what you had to do, then I know you did the right thing."

"How?"

"Because you're always right!"

Monica smiled and let out a quick laugh.

"You know what else I know? Marriage, weddings, kids, forever. That scares the hell out of me. I'm a Bing. We are world champions at terrible marriages. And, you know, I look at everyone else around us, and, I don't know. It fills me with worry and doubt. But if I saw you looking like this, walking down the aisle wearing this dress, all those doubts and fears would all go away. I'd realize how easy and simple it all should be. I'm really sorry you had to break up with Richard. And believe me, I know what it is like to give up something you want right now for the promise of something more down the road. But you…you're not going to end up alone."

Monica stared at Chandler through the mirror. Her lips curled into a smile, but her eyes were wide with shock and awe. This wasn't the guy who she knew that pretended to be someone else so he could get a date with a girl. He wasn't the guy who wrote up lists. He wasn't the guy who could never find the courage to completely end things with Janice. This was instead, the guy who was afraid to turn into Heckles and who ranted about becoming some man who owned a snake. This was a man who wanted what she wanted, even if he wasn't quite sure about when or how he was going to get it.

"So, you don't think I'll end up some old maid."

"No. An old spinster cook maybe."

Monica slapped his arm and laughed. Somehow, despite himself, he made her feel like everything was going to be okay.

"Come one Chandler. I showed you mine. Now you show me yours." Monica stood impatiently by the dressing room, her arms folded and her toe tapping as she huffed and arched an eyebrow.

"Mon, I don't think that means what you think it means. Unless you're coming in here."

"Come on Chandler. Let me see how you look!"

"I don't want to."

"I did it, now you have to do it. Those are the rules."

"You make it sound like we talked about this already. I didn't tell you to try on a wedding dress."

"Just, let me see."

Chandler huffed loud enough that she could hear him from inside the dressing room. He roughly pulled the curtain aside. He stepped out and looked down at himself, shaking his head.

"I'm not wearing a tux to my dad's club."

Monica clasped her hands together and smiled smugly. "I knew you'd look good in a tux."

Chandler began to tug at his collar. "Really? I'm not a big fan of them. They make me look kind of nerdy."

"Nerdy? James Bond wears tuxes. He's not a nerd."

Chandler scoffed as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Batman doesn't wear a tux." He then looked up reflectively. "Bruce Wayne does I guess."

"Who's Bruce Wayne?"

Chandler's eyes went wide with disbelief. "What? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, did you go to college with him?"

"He's Batman."

Monica raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "You're really proud of this Batman thing you've got going on right now."

"Batman's cool."

"Chandler. If you ever want a woman to touch you again, do not tell her that Batman is cool."

Chandler grumbled and bobbed his head side-to-side.

"Anyway, what's wrong with James Bond? He's cool. He always drives those awesome cars."

"Are you kidding me? Batman drives the batmobile!"

Monica turned Chandler so he was facing the mirror. She stood behind him and began to brush lint off his shoulders. She then ran her hands down his sleeves and pinched some of the materiel between her forefinger and thumb.

"Chandler, will you stop complaining. You look good. Anyway, I thought we were doing Pretty Woman."

"Shh!" Chandler looked around to see if anyone was in earshot.

Monica rolled her eyes. "I meant Pretty Man."

"That's not better."

"Let me have one more look at you and then you can change. Then, if you want, we can go out for lunch and I'll buy you a martini." Monica then affected her voice, speaking in a squeaky, uneven tone. "Shaken, not stirred."

"Was that supposed to be an English accent?"

Monica shrugged her shoulders.

"Anyway, I don't like martinis."

"Okay, well, there's a drug store over there. Maybe we can find a yoo-hoo with a crazy straw."

"Ooo, yum!"

Monica spun Chandler around, so he was facing her, and she stepped back. The dark black tuxedo jacket fit him well. His shoulders looked broad and almost imposing. It accentuated his trim figure, and Monica suddenly noticed how he seemed to have kept himself in decent shape after the brief period when they worked out together for a few weeks. She let her eyes trail down so she could see the cut of his pants and she tilted her head as she furrowed her brow.

"Uh, I don't think you can wear that."

Chandler nodded and brushed his sleeve quickly with his hand. "I know. I told you, it's way too formal."

"No. It's not that. I can see double-o and seven in those pants."

Monica grabbed three dresses and then dragged Chandler with her towards the back of the store.

"Oh my god. We are never going to be done shopping. This is how I am going to die. Covered in women's clothes and left out in the desert. Coincidentally, that's what my father calls a regular Saturday night."

Monica shook her head, uninterested in encouraging him. "Look, this is the last store. I just want to try these on and see if I like any of them. If not, we'll go back to the last place and I'll get that green dress I kind of liked."

"Do I have a choice?"

Monica turned to look at him and laughed. "No." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then disappeared behind the curtain.

"Why are you making a big deal out of this?"

"Well, A; I want to make a good impression. B; I like dressing up, and C; I need to feel good about myself and looking pretty in a new dress makes me feel good."

"Something you have in common with…"

"Chandler, I swear if you make one more joke about your dad, I'm going to scream."

"Okay. But it was a good one."

Chandler turned around. He was suddenly aware that Monica was no doubt naked in the changing room and he felt staring at the curtain was somehow inappropriate or some invasion of her privacy. He thought about walking to the front of the store so he could put more space between them while she got undressed, but before he could say something, her voice lifted over the small walls of the changing room.

"So, what did you mean before. About giving up something you want now? Are you talking about the computer girl?"

"Yeah. No. Maybe. Kind of."

"Oh. Okay. That clears things up."

"I think it's all of them."

"All of who?"

"All the women." Chandler paced a bit and then stopped short when another woman stepped past him to walk into a changing room across from Monica.

"All what women?"

"Computer girl. Janice. Aurora. Big head."

"I can't believe you just called a woman big head."

"When I'm with these girls…"

"Women!"

"When I'm with these women, I just feel like, yeah, I'm having fun now, and I'm getting to do all those things I want to do."

"Sex?"

"Pretty much, but then, I don't know…"

"You want more."

"Yeah. I want more."

"Aww. Look at you all grown up."

"I don't want white dresses and tuxedos."

"You will."

Chandler laughed. Monica's tone was confident and playful. A far cry from the woman who stood before him in a wedding dress just a few hour ago and saw a bleak future for herself.

"I feel like you are having a bit too much fun at my expense."

"I think I found one!"

"A woman?"

"No silly. A dress."

She stepped out from behind the curtain in a form fitting red, spaghetti-strapped dress. She smiled as she watched Chandler's eyes dance along her body.

"Oh wow. You look amazing." He brought his hand to his lip and wiped his mouth. "Am I drooling? Because that is a drooling-worthy dress." Monica smiled bashfully and tilted her head. "Now, you know this is a gay burlesque show we are going to, right? This dress isn't going to work on anyone there."

Monica mocked laughter and then turned to see herself in the mirror. "I think I might get a wrap too; in case it gets cold. Are you sure I look all right?"

"You look beautiful."

Monica tossed a few pairs of pants and some suit jackets at Chandler from the rack as they walked past. "Try this, this, and uh, this. Maybe we should get you a tie just in case you have to wear one at the restaurant."

"Are these even in my size?"

"Of course they are." Monica shot him a stern look. "You think I don't know your size?" She then pushed him towards the changing room and shoved him inside. "Okay, let me know how they fit."

Chandler closed the door to the changing room and started to undress. As he bent over a pair of pants flew over the wall and landed on his head.

"Try that one too."

"I do know how to dress myself. I've been doing it for years."

"You have one good suit. The rest of your clothes look like you could sleep in them."

Chandler grumbled as he shook his head and quickly changed. "Hey. Maybe you do have good taste. I think this isn't too bad."

He stepped out of the dressing room and tugged on the jacket as he looked over at Monica. He had a deep navy-blue sports coat that fit him just right. It hugged his shoulders and created the illusion of a broad chest. The pants matched the color of the jacket, and they fell perfectly. The light blue dress shirt gave him a strong presence and the top two buttons were undone, showing just enough of his skin. He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked down.

Monica, for reasons unknown to her, suddenly found it hard to breath as she shivered a bit. Her cheeks then went flush as her pupils dilated and she tried to swallow, but her throat was dry.

"Wow. You look so sex…uh…you look good. You look really, really good."

"Yeah? Is this going to work? I'm trying for a whole Cats in the Cradle thing here with my dad when I see him."

Monica bit her lip as her eyes ran down his jawline to his chest. "Yes. That is, uh, wow, are your eyes bluer or did you put on contacts? I feel like your eyes aren't normally this blue."

"No. Same eyes."

"Okay. Well change back into your crappy clothes and get this outfit. Also, remind me not to drink too much tonight. I think I might be a little tipsy still from those mimosa's and the beer at lunch."

"Oh, uh, sure."

Chandler stepped back into the changing booth and closed the door behind him.

Monica brought her fingers to her lip and began to pull on it slowly. She snapped out of her momentary infatuation as her eyes widened. "What do we have left?"

"Huh?"

"Out of the fifteen-hundred we won at craps last night. After my dress, and lunch and now this, I was just curious."

"Oh, uh let me check." Chandler took out an envelope from his jacket pocket and opened it. He counted out the untouched fifteen hundred-dollar bills and smirked. He then slipped the envelope back into his pocket and took his credit card out of his wallet.

"Do we have enough? I know I should probably take some of it home to pay bills, but I feel like splurging."

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty to take back home with you. I promise."