Pink my A$$

So yesterday I ventured to Victoria's Secret with a mission- to obtain 7 pairs of panties for $25.  Generally I do not care about underwear, no one sees it except me.  I mean, even if I were in an accident (knock on wood) and the paramedics had to see me in my skivvies, I figure they have more important things to worry about.  Like saving my life.

Victoria’s Secret intimidates me  I don’t know why.  It is just a store.  And I love to shop.  I mean, LOVE.  You would think I would feel right at home.  I think it is the undergarment aspect of it.  I don’t want strangers seeing if I prefer briefs or thongs. It took years for me to find out my correct bra size, I was stuffing the girls into a B cup until I finally consented to get measured and discovered I was actually a C.   Which, on a side note, yay, and I didn’t even need to consult with a plastic surgeon.

So I walked in and immediately joined the fray of dozens of women digging through drawers and pawing through piles of tiny scraps fabric.  Ignored them.  Seven.  Pick seven.  This is not a big deal.  The display is chaos.  I feel bad for the sales associates having to re-sort and put it all back.  I feel bad for ME having to try and find my size.

I’m sure most of you are familiar with the Victoria’s Secret Brand Pink, which was what was on sale today.  Bright.  Skimpy.  Not really my style, I am a 30 something single mom after all.  But I figure I can get all black, or plain colors.  THIS IS AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK.  I don’t want cherries, I don’t want polka dots, I don’t want “Spend the night” emblazoned in glitter across my ass. The leopard print intrigued me but they didn’t have my size.  What I do want? Is to LEAVE. After what seemed like forever, I had seven pairs of semi-plain lacy panties clutched in my fist.  I made my way up to the register and got in line.  My phone went off.  As any modern girl would do, I took it out and checked it.  “Miss?  Are you ready?”  Crap.  I was one of those rude spacey cell phone customers.  I thought the line was longer.

I handed the panty wad to the checkout girl.  She carefully unfolded each one and scanned it.  This was taking forever.  I wanted my panties paid for, in the bag, so I could get out of there.  “Um, you need 2 more hon.”  WHAT?  I can count.  I had seven.  I swear I had seven.  “Are you sure?”  She held each one up individually.  I could hear the snickers in the line behind me. “One.  Two. Three. Four. Five.” “What happened to the bright pink ones?” I asked.  She gave me the death stare.  “OK, save those, I’ll be right back.” I hurried back to the display.  And couldn’t decide.  I could see the checkout girl watching me.  I felt like the whole store was watching me.  The whole store was watching me choose underwear. Awful. I grabbed two random pairs and hurried back up to the register, where I paid and pretended to listen to her rattle off about whatever rewards promotion card buy one get one whatever blah blah blah thing they have going on right now.

I brought my pretty pink striped bag home and opened it up to put my purchase in the wash.  My plain, simple, lacy panties?  All have the following slogan sewn on the tag:  “Heart your Cheeks.”  I really wonder at the wisdom of whoever dreamed THAT up, because unless you are a supermodel, or a gorgeous actress, most women do NOT love their cheeks.

Thanks, VS.
 
~J