Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Men's Favorite Store

Another "fun" Wednesday night is here, yeah!! (NOT)

So, Home Depot? Lowes? Gander Mountain? Nope.

Victoria Secret!!

My wife and I went there last week since she's pregnant and well, you should be able to surmise our reason for needing to shop there. It cracks me up to go there because there are always guys in there sheepishly following their women around. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

Us guys go in there and it's like being a kid in a candy store, but we can't touch anything. We make eye contact with each other and flash each other these pathetic little embarrassed grins as we tag behind the women and hope that somehow we'll "get some" for spending $50 on a piece of lace and string.

Then there's the awkward silence as you stand outside the dressing room with the other guys. It's the worst place to be. You can't compliment the other guy's woman, you stare too long at the posters of the models and you start feeling like a perv, and hunting, fishing, or work sure aren't at the forefront of the mind for casual conversations. So you stand around staring at the floor shuffling your feet.

Of course, I have my own oddities to cap all of this off. While my wife was in the dressing room I saw the sports bra section at the OTHER side of the store and though to myself that I would be helpful and go get some of her sizes to see if they might be more comfortable for her to wear. I made a beeline over there and started rummaging through the drawers and hangers to find her size.

Now, this probably would have been fine if she had been right there with me, but I had to be THAT guy.


The guy in the dark jacket, alone on one side of the store, going through bras.

The guy who unabashedly gathers an armful of them, marches right past all of the people waiting in line to check out, reaches the dressing room and hollers out to his woman that he has more for her to try on.

It really didn't occur to me that this might appear odd until I went and completed the entire process a second time.

Probably wouldn't have been as bad if the dang things would stay on the hangers; I swear they are spring loaded to jump off when you touch them. Reaching for one in the middle or back of the rack means at least one in front and one behind would fall half off the hanger, and putting it back on means you have to touch the others and of course they fall off too.

So not only was I THAT guy sorting through bras by himself, I was THAT guy looking like a perv as it appeared I was determined to touch as many as possible.

At least I wasn't stuck staring at the floor shuffling my feet.