2000-06-17

Underwear!

Before I start in on today's entry, may I direct your attention here? This is either truly brilliant or completely fucked up, depending on my mood. In finding this site I applied the Paula Kelley rule of internet treasure hunting: less is more. Type in, between the "www" and the ".com," the stupidest, most random word to immediately come to mind, no matter how idiotic, and 7 times out of 10, you will be entertained. Be warned though, that what you may think of as gross may disappoint you.

So. I made the mistake of taking the "scenic route" (meaning: air-conditioned) home from work this evening, via the Copley Mall. And good golly Miss Molly, Victoria's Secret was having their "Semi-Annual" sale.

I need no shove in the small of my back when it comes to buying me some underwear.

I love underwear. I hoard underwear. I am truly happy when I open my underwear drawer and count at least three weeks' worth of the stuff. And call me a slave to brand loyalty, but all of my underwear is from Victoria's Secret. I freakin' love that place. I love the fact that every Victoria's Secret looks the same: it's like walking into a combination candy box/bordello. I love the fact that the girls who work there are icy, removed, disdainful of me and my green chipped nail polish. I love the puerile thrill that surges through me as I bring my purchases to the counter and think, "You think you're so above me, cool blonde salesgirl, but you are touching my underwear!!!"

Anyway. The Victoria's Secret Semi-Annual sale is a thing to behold. Women of all shapes, colors and ages gleefully tearing though bins of bright, thin, lightly-scented undergarments. I jumped head-first into the fray, scooping up handfuls of bikini unders in a wide variety of rightfully discontinued patterns. I fingered harem pants, half-slips and halters with careful thought, circling around the store a full three times before I zeroed in on where I really wanted to be, which was the in the eye of the hurricane: amidst the bras.

Bra shopping is akin to the search for the Grail, in my book.

I find myself in the section marked off "36C," which as any Victoria's Secret salesgirl will lightly tell you, is the most "popular" size. The pickings are slim in 36C. There are about a dozen of us standing in a circle, elbow deep in nylon and satin, eyeing each other with hostility. It's nerve-wracking. Pretty much all that's left are underwires in lurid shades of lime and aquamarine, and heavy-duty Jayne Russell aerodynamically-sound missile launchers in varying shades of beige. No fun.

I did get some cool pajama bottoms, though.

lisamcc at 03:53:26

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