Adventures in Lingerie Shopping

What most guys know about lingerie shopping you can fit into an A-cup.  For the unlearned dudes out there, an “A-cup” is the smaller size…think “Kate Hudson”.  Buying lingerie for The Wife can be like your kid buying you a tie for Father’s Day.  It may get worn once out of a sense of obligation and then it’s buried in a drawer or given to the church clothing drive never to be seen again.  However, the appropriateness of donating a lace teddy to your church will vary depending upon your denomination.

You hope that the lingerie gift is well received because that stuff is not always easy for a guy to buy in the first place.  Let’s say you order by mail.  If the package is delivered to your house, then The Wife may get the box before you do.  At best, the surprise is ruined or, at worst, she hides the box in a place you’ll never find it (like the laundry room) and your package is forever deemed to have been “lost in the mail”.  You may have equal or worse results if the package is sent to your office.  Imagine this page over the intercom: “Will Mr. Hot To Trot pick up his Frederick’s of Hollywood package at the front desk on his way to see Human Resources?”.

Shopping in the stores creates its own level of anxiety.  I believe sales clerks at Victoria’s Secret get paid bonuses if they embarrass male shoppers to the point of tears. This doesn’t make sense to me since men should be easy targets to “up-sell” (not a euphemism for anything).  When I visit the auto mechanic, they can pop the hood and start pointing at belts and clips and straps and tell me what I need to buy and I don’t know any better than to just buy it.  The same is true in the lingerie shoppe (note the fancy spelling of the word “shop”).  The sales girl can just start pointing at belts and clips and straps and tell me what I need to buy and I don’t know any better but to buy it. 

Before a guy decides to enter Victoria’s Secret he’s already made a few reconnaissance “fly bys” (while singing “Danger Zone” in his head) to be sure he doesn’t recognize anybody in the store.  He has also developed a plan of attack to acquire the target and retreat to home base.  Unfortunately, he gives up on that plan as quickly as the French army…well, gives up.  He walks in to the store and when faced with live bullets (or bustiers in this case) he forgets his training and panics.  Of course there are no sales clerks to help our shell-shocked warrior as he stumbles aimlessly through the store.  An hour later mall security escorts him from the premises after he’s been elbow deep in a stack of panties trying to figure out the difference between a “high-cut brief” and a “bikini”.  War is hell.   Trying to buy “something special” for “someone special” shouldn’t be. 

Finally now, a true “Adventures in Lingerie Shopping” story:

One day a few years ago I decided to buy the wife a nightgown. Nothing  risqué.  Strictly classy.  Honest.  I was wandering through the lingerie section of a department store when I heard a voice say: “Can I help you?”. 

Here’s where I have to help you use your imagination and ask you to believe I’m not being a racist in the way I tell this story (It’s just funnier this way).  The offer for help came from a four-foot-something Asian sales clerk.  To say English was her second language would probably be generous.  So, what she said was “Can I help you?”.  What I heard was: “Khan I hep yew?”.

I told her what I was looking for and she asked in a voice much bigger than her stature:”It for your whife or for gurrrrrl-fren?”  and then she erupted with an almost maniacal laugh (think Ozzy at the beginning of “Crazy Train”).  I was frightened. People from the lingerie department to the Orange Julius must have heard her.  I told her it was for The Wife and then I walked to a different section of the department to look on my own, hoping that Jackie Chan’s creepy little mom would forget about me.

A few minutes later she appears holding a hanger as high as she can over her tiny little head.  On this hangar is some style of lingerie that I could not identify.  It had clasps and straps and snaps and I think it even had a bottle opener.   She presents it for approval by bellowing: “What you tink of dis wahn?  It vaaaary saxxxy!  It vaaaary daaaaaangerous!”. 

To say this wasn’t going well would be like saying the “Boom Goes the Dynamite” guy had an off night.  So, I gave up on that idea, but would not go home empty handed.  I found the cookie shop in the mall and brought home a snickerdoodle for The Wife (also not a euphemism for anything).  I’m pretty sure she would like the cookie more anyway.

Happy Valentine’s Day.  Shop at your own risk.  When in doubt, buy a cookie.