Who’s afraid of the big bad bath store?

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I really enjoy shopping for CareerMom for Christmas. Inevitably, I end up in a women’s clothing store, preferably in the um…underwear section, where all men (according to the women employees apparently) come when they are clueless and lost as to what to purchase for their wives or girlfriend for the holidays.


The same goes for stores that sell beauty products. It’s always the same scenario:


Me…opening the door jingling the cutesy little bells hanging on the handle. I stop for a moment to look around and gather my bearings:

OK, underwear and jammies on the right…jeans and knit tops on the left.  I start walking in either direction only to be accosted by a female employee:

Hello sir, you look utterly lost. May I help you?”


“No thank you,” I say, “I’m good.” 


Great! I’m going to stand over here and pretend to be busy. Just let me know when you figure out that you’re completely in over your head and I’ll come over and rescue you.”


Will do,” I say, not really meaning it, but knowing that if I do ask a question, I will only further prove to her my ineptness at picking out a gift on my own.


So, I walk around the store striking my most manly poses possible, lest some loitering lady mistake me for a gay man shopping for himself. As I stop to ponder the comfort and coverage afforded by the latest panty, I feel a rush of wind and a different female employee suddenly appears under the guise of folding some garment that has apparently up and disarrayed itself. 


Sir, do you need a woman to show you what a woman likes?” she asks.


I respond with, “No thank you. She’s straight.” 


I’m sorry sir, what did you say?” she quips; not quite trusting her ears.


I say, “I said, No thank you I’m great,” and then I depart the panty island and head over to another section of the store where there are currently no employees. What I really wanted to do was pick up the garment and check it out, but not with HER watching. What kind of perv would she think I was then anyway?


So, it generally goes on like this…I walk around and pretend like I know what I’m doing so as to not draw any attention to myself at all. Then, as I check out, the register lady unerringly tries to dazzle me with soap-math:


Sir, these are $7.99 a piece or three for $25. Would you like me to get you a couple more?


Quickly, I try to figure out, “Ok, $7.99…no round that up to $8 and it’ll be easier. What’s 25 divided by 8? 3? They’re $3 a piece if I get 3? Wait…that can’t be right…”


….”sir, do you want to get three for $25?”


Um, just a sec, lemme think…”


….”sir, there are people waiting…”


Ok fine, I’ll take three,” I say quickly not wanting to hold up the line of angry, albeit apparently perfectly adept female shoppers. I think to myself that surely I can pawn these extra items off on someone else as an original gift idea.


So, if you get a thong or some bath suds from me, you’ll know where they came from and why I gave such a strange, and slightly disturbing gift to a female family member.


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