"Say It Ain't So!!"

I don't know what I'm more upset about... The fact that Hillary is still apparently a viable candidate for President after the results of yesterday's primary elections, or the recent news that Victoria's Secret has announced that they have become "too sexy" for its own good. "Say it isn't so" on both counts.

Just as assuredly as day follows night and the swallows are soon scheduled to once again return to the mission at San Juan Capistrano, there are just certain things that the average red-blooded American male looks forward to each year: Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition and the arrival of the Victoria's Secret summer catalogue. We men set our watches and calendars by those two auspicious occurrences. And now...the apocalypse must be upon us...Victoria's Secret is rethinking its position in the world of women's lingerie and in the faint hearts of men. Again, Mable, say it ain't so!"

Find me a male who hasn't at least once tentatively ventured into one of Victoria's Secret's alluring and intimidating retail outlets to procure a little something provocative for their lady fair and I'll introduce you to a male who needs to get his pulse checked. Such forays are always unnerving to say the least, as this is no hardware store and the merchandise, so alluring displayed, do not lend themselves to glad handing as one would otherwise mull over the purchase of say a reciprocating saw. We are completely out of our element is this environment. Our pulse quickens, our eyes dart here and there in bewilderment, and sweat begins to bead on our upper lip as we begin to seriously rethink this ill-advised journey into the world of female unmentionables, becoming more convinced by the second, as we sink further into the bowels of that establishment, that perhaps the "little woman would much prefer something for the kitchen."

And then we find ourselves outed by the approach of a charming sales lady who immediately disarms us with the dreaded question, "May I help you?" (You think to yourself, "Say something, stupid!") "Ah-a-a-a-a-a..." (So far so good...) "I'm not sure... I'm just looking right now." (Brilliant, you idiot!! She knows you're not in here to buy motor oil!!) "Well...let me know if you have any questions that I can assist you with," politely responds the pert little sales lady. (Dude!! Get a backbone!! Tell her you need her help...otherwise you'll be the last lost soul left in the store when they close up the place!!) "Aha-a-a-a... I want...I think...I mean I want to buy my wife some new underwear," you respond pitifully. "What do you have in mind?" (Dear god, lady!! Do you honestly think I have any clue as to what I want and, by miracles of miracles, she might actually like and, even more remotely possible, wear? Have pity on me...please!!) "Well... Ah-a-a-a... " (This is not going well at all!!) "I was thinking of a new...ah-a-a-a-a...bra and maybe some (God, I hate saying this word in public!) panties." "Oh, how nice for her," she says, smiling sweetly. (You think she's thinking... "What a total loon!! How soon before my shift ends before I can be shed of these insufferable idiots!?!") "As you can see sir, we have a wide variety of bras and panties to pick from. Perhaps you could guide me toward a special type and color. (There are types!?!) "Ah-a-a-a-a...red! She likes red!" (Or was it baby blue? I'll stick with red...) "Good... Let's look at these red bras and see if any of the styles appeal to you." (Dumbfounded! I am now officially dumbfounded!!) "Ah-a-a-a-a... That one looks nice....what there is of it. Yea...that'll do. I like...I mean I think she'll like that. You have a return policy don't you?" "Oh yes, but I'm sure she'll like this bra. You've made a very intelligent selection." (If she only knew how 'intelligence' had so little to do with it.) "Now sir, what size is she?" (What!?!) "You know...her breast size...her cup size?" ( That kitchen utensil is beginning to sound more and more like a very good idea!!) "Is she an A, B, C, D, or bigger?" "Do I have to give them a letter grade?" She smiled politely, but I could tell she was more annoyed than amused. "Let's do it this way," she continued. "Is she my size?" (This had to be the only place in the world but perhaps a gentleman's club where one was encouraged to ogle a females breasts in public and not get severely reprimanded or slapped senseless!) "Aha-a-a" (I hesitated, trying to draw a comparative image of my wife's breast to this wisp of a girl. Patiently she waited my response knowing that I was engaged in a detailed mental exercise of comparison shopping. Would she somehow be offended if I said that my wife's breast were smaller or larger than hers? Is there even a right answer?) "Well...I suppose they... I mean she is probably about the same size as you...more or less," I said without much conviction. "Okay. I'm a C...almost a D," she offered without a hint of self conscientiousness as though she was merely advising me of her shoe size. "She can always return it for another size if it turns out it is too small or large. Now, how about a pair of panties to match? What size? (Here we go again...) "Ah-a-a-a-a... Do they have a letter grade also?" "No, just small, medium, large, or extra large. How big are her hips?" (Compared to what, I'm thinking. I couldn't help it. I find myself staring at her hips to get another comparative mental image.) "She's a little larger than you." "Okay...then she probably wears a large." (Oh goodness no...not a large!) "Can she bring them back for a different size too if they are not the right size? " "Yes...absolutely." "Then let's get her a medium...and hope for the best." "Good decision, sir." (She has no idea...) "Now...what type? (Dear sweet baby Jesus...is this ordeal ever going to end!?!) "We have these selections to chose from..." And she proceeds to show me every type of women's bloomers ever conceived by human inventiveness, most of which had less fabric than a small handkerchief. She continued... "These are nice and they are on sale for 3 pairs for $15.00." She held a pair up before her eyes and smiled broadly. "What do you think?" (Is it absolutely necessary that I make a public proclamation of my opinion?) "Yes...yes...they will do just fine. I'll take a pair of red, black and, to hedge my bets, a pair of baby blue." "Wonderful," she beamed. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?" "No, no. You've been most helpful." "Great. Just take these over to the cashier and she'll ring you up." I made my purchase, stuffed the distinctive Victoria's Secret shopping bag down inside my Sears store bag so as to curtail any snickers or snide remarks from passers-bys, and hurried over to the nearest Starbuck's for a cup of strong coffee to sooth my frazzled nerves.

Victoria's Secret too sexy!?! Perish the thought. But their catalogue is the way to go. Shopping in their stores is just too nerve wracking for we men of less refined decorum. Yes, indeed...a nice set of pots and pans for that next special occassion seems to me to be just the ticket.