The other night I was hunched over a cardboard box full of unisex long johns when I unwittingly found myself in the path of destruction. Specifically, as I stood up to adjust my own underpants, I noticed that a man standing at the end of the aisle was trying to determine if I could fit into the ones that he was holding in his hands. It only took a very quick look at the objects that the man was holding to realize that he was a very good judge of women's underwear sizes: I am, in fact, a Double D on top and an extra small on bottom.
"For your wife?" I asked of the functional sleepwear the man had selected.
"Yes," the man said nervously.
"She's one very lucky lady," I replied, eyeing the cheetah-print g-string and matching see through babydoll top.
I hope that my husband is as thoughtful this holiday season.
The man was tremendously relieved that I liked his present.
I was in the process of encouraging the man to make his wife's Christmas even more special by adding a toaster and subscription to Weight Watchers to his already impressive gift arsenal when the man's cell phone rang. It was an important business call, and he had to take it outside.
The man's departure gave me enough time to remove all of the animal-print nighties from the rack and shove them behind a rack of lime green Isotoner slippers.
Who says one person can't make a difference? I single-handedly saved someone's Christmas.