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He said in a very small voice, “Well, it would be for me.”

Issue Date: Tuesday, Mar. 13, 2007

I am going to a wedding this weekend and I am thinking about wearing the wrap dress that Mister got me for Christmas. I totally need to go find the appropriate undergarments and decide if I am going to go all sandal-y or boot-y.

I have a problem you see. I have never been one to be put together when I needed to be. I do the best when I am given an outfit or if I am shopping with one of three people (Mister, my boss or my mother) and they put an outfit together for me. Otherwise I have a wide tacky streak that just will not quit. I love accessories, I love it when an outfit comes together, but I have a problem with keeping that outfit together. I take pieces and parts and try to marry them with something completely uncalled for.

I am not that girl. I can never remember to do light lips when I have done a heavy, smoky eye. I can never get my blow outs to stay blown out. I get hot, the neck gets warm and the curls start from the bottom up. It is not a good look. It is more of a triangle hair look. All sleek* on top and fuzzy underneath.

*And by sleek I totally mean flat.

I have fine hair. Fine, curly hair. I have perpetual escapees. If I have my hair back in a comfortable and yet partially stylish twist, those little baby hairs at my hair line will break away from the pack and stick straight out with a little kink… just so you know that they and their cowlick mean business. If I spray them down? Oh, that just means a whole herd of hair escapes and I have this crunchy curl action sticking out from the side like an antennae.

So, yeah. If you followed the link, the dress is fabulous. The girl has on knee high boots. I could work knee high boots, but this year all of the designers went with a two inch pipe from a bakers rack as their model for the calve width of the average woman. So, yeah. Um. No. So sandals or boots? I have a plethora of many. Black strappy sandals, berry colored wedge heeled sandals (cork wedge with black? No… right?). Satin-y open toed sandals with a little bow on the back, is satin too dressy for a 6 pm wedding?

Where the hell is my Southern Woman Protocol School Training? I think the relationship with the redneck X sucked the polished right out of me.

I need your help Obi-Wan-KenoInternets, you are my only hope.

Oh, and if you tell me Spanx? I have already thought about it... Good idea Internets. One question though, do they have plus size?

Also, what will the weather be like in Houston on Saturday? High: 71° Low: 53° Thank you Internets… I love you.

I will try to be put together and sassy at the same time in Houston on Saturday, I will try to make you proud. Many thanks.

If you know me or have known me since I was 18? You have heard this story. Come back another time so you don’t get bored.

So. I was eighteen and home for Christmas during my freshman year in college. I had worked for Victoria’s Secret in the past. (If you look at the last post… I am at the bottom left of the picture. I was totally cute, and very humble. Heh.) I was their floater for the DFW area. Whenever they needed a boost in sales they would send me to that store. I had a gift for looking at a woman and putting her in something that would flatter her features and hide her insecurities and or flaws. I was the rain maker of lingerie y’all. But did I ever wear any? Nope. I was boobie-less and not all that concerned if my underwear were satin or cotton. Also, the money that I was making was going to college funds… books, beer and the like.

So when I found a lingerie store close to the house who wanted to hire me I thought I would give it a shot for the Christmas holidays. The store was a great little place called Paulette’s. They sold lingerie, bath products, European chocolates and champagne with the matching glasses. My favorite thing to do would be putting baskets together for whatever festivity was being planned.

A man would come in and tell me about his wife’s birthday/second honeymoon/he was in the dog house/whatever and I would help him pick out something that his wife (or whomever) may actually wear, we’d pull together some bath products or products from the Karma Sutra line and then round it out with a bottle of wine/champagne, the glasses that matched, some chocolates… cellophane wrapping, tied up with a beautiful bow and voilŕ! Perfect gift… and return customers.

I was working one afternoon. I had just finished putting a nice window treatment together in between customers and because it was a Sunday we (well, I … as I was working alone that day) were going to close at six o’clock in the evening.

A very, very, very tall woman (over 6’2”) came into the store. She was going on a second honeymoon with her husband and wanted to take some new lingerie to surprise him. She had her daughter with her. The daughter was six and was so interested in everything we had in the store. The lady had a great rack but was worried about her hips and thighs. I put her in the dressing room* measured her, set her daughter on the chair inside the dressing room and told her I would be right back.

*We had a double dressing room. A set of swinging door to enter the dressing room, a comfortable wing back chair and a three sided mirror was in the first part, then two curtained off rooms were inside of that. The idea was that a woman could try on the stuff behind one of the curtained off areas and then be able to show her husband, or whomever (who was sitting in the chair inside the first part) what she was trying on in the privacy of the dressing room and everyone was happy.

I went out and got a selection of gowns for her to try on. They covered her “problem areas” and drew the eyes upwards with a deep v-neckline in the front and a very dramatic plunge in the back. She was so excited and felt so sexy that she asked me to wrap everything up and then she and her daughter went to look at the matching panties and bras.

I took her purchases to the front counter to ring up later then went to help her find her size in the styles she was interested in. She handed over a coloring book to her child with a few crayons and her little girl happily sat on the floor while her mother and I discussed the merits of full coverage versus demi-cut bras.

It was about that time that a tall, handsome cowboy type walked in. He took his sunglasses off and slid them into the pocket of his shirt and let his eyes adjust to the store’s lights. I called a hello to him and asked if I could help him find something special for someone. The lady’s daughter took that moment to stand up and show her mother the picture she had colored. The man asked what time we closed, I told him and he said that he just remembered an errand he had to run and would be back later.

The lady bought several panty and bra sets and I wrapped those and her gowns in boxes with tissue papers and beautiful ribbons. She left with her arms full and a big smile on her face.

I was in the dressing rooms re-hanging things that had not been selected by the lady for her second honeymoon trip when the entry bell rung. I absentmindedly touched the panic button remote that I had in my pocket and went to see who had come in the store. I always carried the panic button remote with me, especially when I was working alone. You never knew when someone would come in and make a big fuss, “My girlfriend is about your size, would you mind modeling this for me?” [eyebrow wiggle]

Guys? Don’t do that. Really. It isn’t funny, everyone has heard it a thousand times and it makes the women who work in lingerie retail regret that they took the job, even if the discount is rockin. Plus? It is totally skeezy. You do not want to be that guy.

So I walked out of the back room, saw the same handsome cowboy guy and he did the same move. Sunglasses off, stuff them in his shirt pocket and then a look around.

As I was walking toward him I said, “Hi, welcome back. You just caught me straightening up. Is there anything special I can help you find? Is this for your wife, your girlfriend, somebody special…?” By the time I had finished my questions I had reached him. He was about 6’4” and looked like he belonged in Urban Cowboy, all denim and dark hair. I kept my eyes on his as I watched him become slightly uncomfortable. I put my hand in my pocket on the panic button and waited for him to meet my eyes.

He said in a very small voice, “Well, it would be for me.”

I took that moment to look down to think. I had never been in that kind of situation before so I looked at his boots and then came to a decision. I let my eyes travel up his tall lean body and on the way up I noticed that he had a hole in the right knee of his jeans, where a pair of black fishnet stockings were visible as well as at the deep v of his denim work shirt a red teddy was barely able to be seen. I met his eyes and asked, “You’re about a 38 to a 40 right?”

He relaxed and said, “Yes ma’am.”

I asked him why he left earlier. He said, “I didn’t want to scare off your other customer, and besides, she had a little girl with her.”

I decided that he couldn’t be all that bad if he was so aware of the sensitivity of other customers, and their children.

“So,” I asked him, “what are you looking for?”

We spent the next fifteen minutes going through his likes and dislikes. The color that he was looking for and that he was mainly looking for an outfit, not just bras and panties or a teddy, he wanted the whole shebang. I led him over to a four way rack of merriwidows and pulled the size 40 out in an electric blue color. I also pulled out the g-string that went with it, the stockings and the garter belts that would attach the stockings to the bodice. His eyes lit up and he asked in barely a whisper, “Would you mind if I tried this on?”

I said, “Why not?” and led him to the double swinging doors that were the entrance to the dressing rooms.

I straightened up around the store as he struggled to get the hook and eye closures closed on the merriwidow. He finally gave up and came to the swinging doors and poked his head out, “Would you mind helping me with this? I can’t get the hooks closed.” So I walked over, reached over the swinging doors and hooked the bodice up. As soon as I was done, I turned and went back to straightening the racks.

He walked over to the mirror and asked me to come and see. “Would you come look and give me your honest opinion?” I walked over to the swinging doors and pushed one open. There stood a very tall cowboy with an electric blue merriwidow on, black fishnet stockings and the smallest pair of pink women’s panties that I had ever seen. His junk was falling out all over the place.

I took in the sight of how the merriwidow fit on him. It fit very well, any larger and he would have been hitching it up all the time. Any smaller? The fit would have been all off. So I told asked him, “What is your name? I make it a priority to know the names of all the men who try on lingerie in my store.” He blushed then said, “My name is Adam**, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

**Can not remember his first name to save my life. We’ll go with Adam as he was just about nude.

“Alright Bucky,” I continued, “The bustier looks great, but we have got to get you into some new underwear. You have parts falling out all over the place and that can not be comfortable.” He agreed, and bolstered by his agreement I kept on going. It was like I had diarrhea of the mouth, I could not shut up. “And honey, black fishnets, a red teddie and pink panties? That just will not do. Where are you getting your stuff?”

He told me that he wears his wife’s things sometimes. I asked him, “Two questions, 1) does she know? And 2) how small is she?” He answered with, “Yes she knows and she is tiny.” So I made a stand right there that if he was going to wear women’s under things that he must wear ones that fit and that were his. He agreed and then we found him some things that fit and were comfortable.

He was there about 45 minutes by the time he got done and I went to the front of the shop to wrap up his purchases. He dressed and came to the counter to pay.

“How old are you?” He asked me. “Eighteen.” “You seem pretty worldly and very comfortable in this situation for an eighteen year old.” My reply? (And yes, I could have just as well swallowed my tongue.) “Well, Bucky, your money is green right?” He grinned and said, “Yes ma’am!”

We chatted for a bit while I rang up his new pretties and I (seriously, I could not shut up) asked him, “So, how did you get into wearing women’s lingerie?” He told me that his wife had asked him to wear her underwear when they were first dating in college. He liked the feel of the satin on his… package… and just kept wearing them off and on. She was his wife now and they had been married for over 10 years. Then he gave me his card and said, “You seem cool. If you are ever looking for some entertainment that is different, my wife and I put on lingerie shows at people’s homes if they are open to it. I’m the model of course. Thank you so much for everything. I will tell all of my friends to come and give you their business!” I took his card, thanked him and gave him his receipt.

Bucky left and I closed up the shop. I drove home and when I walked in my family was just sitting down for dinner. My mother chatted happily and my father informed me that Bean had called and would be around shortly to collect me to go to the movie that we had planned to see. As I sat there and watched my family talking happily and eating their dinner I began to shake a little.

I thought I was worldly and that I could handle anything. But no, I was a young Southern Belle who had not been exposed to much of anything except a little WWF at the hands of my friends like Bean. I was small minded and very immature. Yet, I had just helped outfit a man in women’s lingerie.

My father noticed that I wasn’t talking (an abnormality) and said, “Susan, honey, are you alright? You are shaking and you are white as a sheet.” “Daddy, I am fine, thank you.” “Oh, horse crap, what happened? Tell me honey, what happened today. Tell me right now.” So I commenced to telling my father what had happened at the store. I was proud that I found the right fit for the man and that I had given him something to be happy about. But my father was not pleased.

About a millisecond after I finished telling my father what happened, the doorbell rang. It was Bean. My father escorted Bean into the kitchen, sat him at my sister’s evacuated seat (my mother immediately tried to feed him a side of beef) and Daddy said, “Go on, tell him what happened.” So I retold the story, as briefly as I could – totally leaving out the part about the small pink panties and the man’s junk falling out of either leg hole at the telling to both my father AND Bean – and as I told Bean, watching him get redder and redder in the face, his eyes a blazing blue, my father said, “Do you still have the card he gave you?”

Ut oh.

“Susan. Do you still have the card he gave you?” “No?” “Give me the card.” I reluctantly held the card out. My father took it, looked it over and looked at Bean. “Call the boys. Let’s go roll this mother fucker.”

Now mind you. I had heard my father say no more than “shit” on one occasion before this. I was a bit taken aback. Why would my father want to hurt this man? Why would Bean be so mad as to be silently steaming under his freckles?

I pleaded for my father to call off the posse, to leave the poor man alone. I told my daddy and Bean time and time again that Bucky had been nothing but polite and kind to me and that the sale was huge. My father cooled off a bit (Bean was still red as a beet) and finally said, “Okay fine. But that was your LAST day working at that place, do you understand me?” “Yes sir.”

So I called my manager that evening before I went to the movies with Bean and quit my job for the Holidays.

Sadly, that is the last time I got to outfit a cowboy in women’s underwear.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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