28 May 2016
Story #809
R. Linda:
Okay, I will never do this again -- go underwear shopping with the wife. To say she was frustrated, depressed, and thinking of giving up the idea of underwear altogether would be an UNDERstatement; excuse the pun.
First, the top part of the bra. She tried on several and emerged from the changing room red-faced and furious. She slung the bra over the changing room door and conversed quietly with the shop girl. Off the latter went and back with at least six more bras. Back in goes the wife; I hear sighing, seething breaths coming out between her teeth, punching the wall, and wham, another bra comes slamming over the changing room door, then a few minutes of silence, more heaving of breath, and wham, another one gets slung on the door. Finally, I call tentatively, "Tonya, what's the matter, love?"
"I can show you," says she, and after a few seconds, the door swings open, and there she is in her crew-necked sweater with . . . with . . . well, she was very buxom, to say the least. "Soon . . . " says I, "You've got your Jayne Mansfield going." I would have said Diana Dors, but no one in this country would know who that was, so Jayne Mansfield it was.
On her face, there was no amusement; oh no, if we were alone, she'd be doing a Johnny Depp at me. She had her phone half raised like she was about to toss it at me face, but she didn't. Instead, she gave me AND the shop girl a dirty look, and that was that.
"Bring me the panties," she says to the girl through the slats in the door.
Off the poor thing ran and was back with a pile of women's briefs. She knocked tentatively and, getting the go-ahead, handed them over the door. We waited, neither daring to say a word, let alone breathe.
"UGH!!!" Came from the closed dressing room door.
That wasn't good. The shop girl wanted to run; I could see it in her face, but knowing I was sitting there waiting as well, she pulled herself together and stood there looking scared, very scared.
I cleared me throat, "What's the matter, dear?" I ventured, noticing me voice sounded like croaking.
"I'll tell you what the matter is," Tonya shouted from inside the changing room, "I don't NEED, nor do I LIKE these stay-in-place tabs! All this stuff is for ultra-skinny people who don't have boobs or ass cheeks! I don't need my stuff to be pushed up, pushed in and looking like I am a 40 triple D! I also have a butt, people. I don't need tabs to hold my panties in place, for god's sake! The last thing I want to look like is an underfed Victoria's Secret model!"
That gave me pause as I considered that wasn't a bad thing, was it?
And on and on she went until I slowly and quietly got up and started backing meself out of the lingerie department. The shop girl saw what I was doing, and that was her go-ahead to do the same thing! I can just imagine the look on Tonya's face as she went on ranting as she got dressed and came out to find NO ONE THERE! Were we in trouble? You betcha! But we two smarties were well away by the time she came out. Did she find us? Unfortunately, she found ME, not the shop girl with stacks of clothing to hide behind.
My excuse was that I went to look for something decent for her, and of course, being in the corset and girdle department was where I was, without realising. Was I in more trouble? You bet your arse I was. She hasn't spoken to me since, AND she fired off an email to the shop about how unhelpful the shop girl was, PLUS she's never shopping there again. Are they glad? You betcha they must be.
Does anyone know where Hillary Clinton shops?
Gabe
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Okay, I will never do this again -- go underwear shopping with the wife. To say she was frustrated, depressed, and thinking of giving up the idea of underwear altogether would be an UNDERstatement; excuse the pun.
First, the top part of the bra. She tried on several and emerged from the changing room red-faced and furious. She slung the bra over the changing room door and conversed quietly with the shop girl. Off the latter went and back with at least six more bras. Back in goes the wife; I hear sighing, seething breaths coming out between her teeth, punching the wall, and wham, another bra comes slamming over the changing room door, then a few minutes of silence, more heaving of breath, and wham, another one gets slung on the door. Finally, I call tentatively, "Tonya, what's the matter, love?"
"I can show you," says she, and after a few seconds, the door swings open, and there she is in her crew-necked sweater with . . . with . . . well, she was very buxom, to say the least. "Soon . . . " says I, "You've got your Jayne Mansfield going." I would have said Diana Dors, but no one in this country would know who that was, so Jayne Mansfield it was.
On her face, there was no amusement; oh no, if we were alone, she'd be doing a Johnny Depp at me. She had her phone half raised like she was about to toss it at me face, but she didn't. Instead, she gave me AND the shop girl a dirty look, and that was that.
"Bring me the panties," she says to the girl through the slats in the door.
Off the poor thing ran and was back with a pile of women's briefs. She knocked tentatively and, getting the go-ahead, handed them over the door. We waited, neither daring to say a word, let alone breathe.
"UGH!!!" Came from the closed dressing room door.
That wasn't good. The shop girl wanted to run; I could see it in her face, but knowing I was sitting there waiting as well, she pulled herself together and stood there looking scared, very scared.
I cleared me throat, "What's the matter, dear?" I ventured, noticing me voice sounded like croaking.
"I'll tell you what the matter is," Tonya shouted from inside the changing room, "I don't NEED, nor do I LIKE these stay-in-place tabs! All this stuff is for ultra-skinny people who don't have boobs or ass cheeks! I don't need my stuff to be pushed up, pushed in and looking like I am a 40 triple D! I also have a butt, people. I don't need tabs to hold my panties in place, for god's sake! The last thing I want to look like is an underfed Victoria's Secret model!"
That gave me pause as I considered that wasn't a bad thing, was it?
And on and on she went until I slowly and quietly got up and started backing meself out of the lingerie department. The shop girl saw what I was doing, and that was her go-ahead to do the same thing! I can just imagine the look on Tonya's face as she went on ranting as she got dressed and came out to find NO ONE THERE! Were we in trouble? You betcha! But we two smarties were well away by the time she came out. Did she find us? Unfortunately, she found ME, not the shop girl with stacks of clothing to hide behind.
My excuse was that I went to look for something decent for her, and of course, being in the corset and girdle department was where I was, without realising. Was I in more trouble? You bet your arse I was. She hasn't spoken to me since, AND she fired off an email to the shop about how unhelpful the shop girl was, PLUS she's never shopping there again. Are they glad? You betcha they must be.
Does anyone know where Hillary Clinton shops?
Gabe
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved
LMAO underwear shopping is a pain in the ass. Your part is to say nothing and wait for hell to end. Nothing ever fits right or it's too plain. Can't win
ReplyDeleteRoflmao. So true!
ReplyDeleteMate, you got to learn to turn it around. Tell her she looks like a hot tomato popping out of a rum bottle, or that she looks better than Angelina Jolie. Just don't tell her she looks like your mother in her younger years. I made that mistake and paid for it by waking up to my head being shaved.
ReplyDeleteSpeaking of tomatoes ready to pop, what happens when Depp's career goes down the tubes? Does yours go with it?
Deletebeen there, done that, don't have the bra and panties! but i do have spanks!
ReplyDeleteToo much information
Delete