CantthinkofanameforthisbloG

Men, much like myself often think that accompanying a girl to the lingerie section of a shop must be a world of fun. Now who amongst us has not snuck a quick peek into the lingerie section of a store while casually strolling past with a look of pronounced nonchalance?  … Fine just me then.. anyway, you ladies have to realize, the lingerie section is taboo for men. Its no mans land.. The lingerie section is like a clothing Shangri-La. You have all heard about it but very few men have actually ventured past its mythical shelves packed with unmentionables in strange shapes and sizes. The walls covered with posters that would make a boys hostel room blush and the strangest of all, staff that seem perfectly comfortable selling what can only be described as left over bits of fabric. Yes the lingerie section of a store is a strange place.

My store begins not so long ago when the girlfriend wanted to go shopping and seeing that I have a strong pair of hands, would make for a useful porter/hanger/shopping cart etc. decided to drag me along. Seeing as my other option was to just laze at home I chose to... well laze at home obviously. Unfortunately my get-up and go was triggered by the fact that my girlfriend has gained custody of my credit card and was quite capable of breaking the bank with it if not supervised. We (what I really mean is she) spent some (read: 3 hours) time selecting a few articles of clothing (read: over 15) and now needed to try them on to see which ‘All’ to buy. Here comes the interesting part, coz you see the store had two sets of changing rooms for ladies. One in the Indian ethnic section and the other … well you guessed it, in smack in the middle of the lingerie section. The reason I bring this up is that I was required to stand outside the changing room to (i) hold the bulk of the items while said girl was trying one on and (ii) to give my opining (however I feel the second point was probably mentioned to make me feel important as the girlfriend had all the opinion she needed in the form of a mirror).

As luck would have it, the ethnic section changing rooms were full so the other option was chosen. Hesitant at first I soon realized this was my chance to find out the goings on in this mysterious section. Filled with excitement (on the same level as Columbus probably felt while discovering a new and as yet untamed land) I entered the forbidden kingdom. No sooner had those thoughts formed in my mind when suddenly I went from an intrepid explorer to a shivering Guantanamo detainee. Gone were the images of supermodels in sexy underwear only to be replaced with middle-aged out of shape woman with disgusted looks of disapproval on their faces. By this time I was long abandoned by the girlfriend (who by now was happily trying out her new clothes that I would be buying for her) and I was left to fend for myself in this savage land I did not understand.

Let me draw you a picture. There I was, to my left a underwear clad mannequin propped up on a pedestal so its pelvic region is at shoulder level. To my right were the above mentioned ‘middle-aged’ woman with their disapproving looks of disgust at my presence there. In front of me was the changing room and behind me (to my horror) was a queue of woman waiting for the trial rooms to get free. Now it took me a while to realize that the ladies behind me thought I was in the queue as well and the fact that I was holding women’s clothes did not help any.  I just had no where to look dammit! Everywhere I turned I got unpleasant looks from woman in my line of sight (guess they thought I was some ladies-clothes wearing, lingerie section loitering sicko with nothing better to do.) I actually spent an unusually long time staring at my shoes, as it seemed the least ‘controversial’ direction to look at. It was then that a rather large lady was trying to cut the line and brushed against me. I don’t know why, perhaps it was the fear of being accused of some form of harassment, that I jumped to my left and nearly knocked the promiscuously dressed mannequin off her pedestal. Reflexes kicked in and I caught it before it fell. Unfortunately the position I ended up holding the mannequin was less than appropriate and it took me all of two seconds to realize this, unfortunately the damage was already done. Just then the girlfriend walked out of the trial room only to see her beloved boyfriend molesting an underwear clad mannequin while middle-aged woman ran for cover. Needless to say she found the entire episode more than a bit funny. I however  Iam scarred for life. Never, in the brief and colorful history that is my life (so far) have I transitioned from being titillated to publicly humiliated in such a short span of time.

My warning to all who have managed to read this and to those who decided to scroll over the actual story and skip right to the end – be very careful what you wish for.. they may actually come true.. and how!

Cheers

The mann-e-quen

(Name changed to reflect the gender of author, the act of carrying women’s clothing and obviously the mannequin itself)