beverly hills
Walking into Victoria's Secret, to peruse the latest panty selection, I see two men. This is somewhat alarming, as this makes me want to almost immediately turn and walk straight out. I mean, assuming I do in fact wear panties and other undergarments, at some point I need (read: need vs want game) to add to/replenish said "collection", as most all women do. But-but...there are MEN here. Note: It's a very similar blood-rushing to the head & turning red feeling like when getting toilet paper, tampons, etc... Of course I need these things but I definitely feel like I'm parading around with said items with a spotlight, like a circus act. but imagine they may be feeling just as, if not more, awkward. I mean, in their own heads, one picking out panties for hopefully and presumably his gf (as opposed to unlikely option number 1. His sister, option: 2. His mother, or option: 3. A girl he wants to desperately make his gf and to no avail, this will inevitably not do the trick) and the friend, wingman, who now knows and will inevitably picture his friends' girlfriend in said undergarments. And if I buy anything surely they will take note and picture me in said items. I quickly begin to feel dirty, used and like a worker come actress, in the beginning of a video conveniently found in the curtained off section at blockbuster to those over 18 years of age, directed by a Victoria's Secret stock boy whose 45 and in film school. Something's gone terribly wrong here (and by here, i mean my brain) and after more awkwardness creeps into my every last being, I make my exit whilst biting my bottom lip in a greater effort to avoid the uncomfortable laughing fit aching to escape.
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