Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.In search of the perfect Christmas gift at Victoria’s Secret by J. G. Fabiano There I stood. In the midst of a labyrinth of highly decorated halls lined with stores offering everything from 30% off to doubling shoppers money if they would only go in their store to buy the perfect Christmas gift. I had wandered up and down those hallowed halls for about an hour and a half. All I had accomplished in my travels was a half-eaten ice-cream cone and a soon to be discarded ice-cream-stained sweater. In other words, I was lost in a place where no man should pass. I was also panic-stricken because it was getting close to the time of year when my wife and daughter would meet before our perfectly-decorated plastic Christmas tree to find out how much we really meant to each other. This was the culmination of weeks, if not months, of shopping for presents that would be opened in seconds and talked about until the next Christmas shopping season. Like most men throughout the history of gift-giving I have no concept of what to buy my wife. My daughter was a bit easier because, for the past decade or so, I’ve bought her a bottle of perfume. I head directly toward the perfume counter at one of the major department stores at the mall where I am totally ignored by all the experienced clerks because I look as though I have just returned from a clamming expedition, until I eventually find a trainee who will help me. I enjoy this particular chapter of my shopping experience because I always end up buying one of the more expensive perfumes, which means the new recruit gets the larger commission instead of the veteran employees who have ignored me. This year I was having an especially difficult time. Nothing in any of the stores gave me the impression they would fit what my wife would later call the perfect gift. For the past few seasons I had been lucky enough to find something my wife cherished, for a little while anyway, but this year I was not so lucky. So, there I stood in the middle of the mall with dripping ice-cream cone in hand, when I looked up and saw something totally pink. In fact, the entire front of the store was pink and chrome with big pictures of beautiful women partially dressed in what looked like angel costumes. I squinted at the sign above all this pinkness and realized that I was outside the Victoria’s Secret Store. For a moment I was inclined to hurry away but then I remember one of my female colleagues at work telling me I should buy my wife something from Victoria’s Secret. She thought every woman would enjoy something from Victoria’s Secret and buying my wife a present from there would be like buying myself a present. I think I knew what she meant but I can’t go into too much detail because this is a family tale, after all. Staring though the doorway at the brilliantly-lit interior I noticed there were few people inside. I decided this was probably the perfect time to buy something quickly without being seen by anybody I knew. I turned up the collar on my coat and took a step towards the doorway only to hear a voice from behind me exclaim: "Hi Mr. Fabiano. Are you going to get something for your wife?" I stopped, one foot in the store, one foot out, turned slowly and peered in the direction of the voice. Whoever it was, was not alone. There was a gang of them, six or eight at least. As they swam into focus I realized they were students from my school. Before I could say a word, one of the girls asked me if I was feeling OK as I was very flushed. One of her friends piped up that I was probably too hot because I had forgotten to take off my hat and coat even though I was inside the mall. I felt small beads of perspiration break out on my forehead as I rummaged through my panicked brain for an explanation that sounded innocent – and came up blank. Then another of my students, a boy this time, said it was a great store to buy presents. In fact, he had just bought something there for his mother. His mother! He had been shopping in Victoria’s Secret for his mother? And here I had always believed that I belonged to the most enlightened generation of all time. Flustered, the only words I could think to say were: "Have I met your mother?" Instantly I realized this was not the right response and felt my face grow even redder. The kids wished me a merry Christmas then went on their way, giggling and whispering, and I knew that, after the Christmas break, the entire school would know Mr. Fabiano had been seen going into Victoria’s Secret. I found myself wishing Victoria would try just a little harder to keep her secret. Having already suffered the worst imaginable embarrassment, or so I thought, I went into the store. The instant I was inside I thought I had gone blind. Apparently shoppers in a Victoria Secret store need to see the merchandise in full illumination because there were more lights in that one store than in Times Square. I squinted against the glare, took a step backward and bumped into a rack of what would be in, any other store, clothing. I felt the rack start to topple and instinctively reached out to grab it only to feel my hands grasping at --- nothing. It never occurred to me that one would never try to feel his way around a Victoria’s Secret store but at this point I was operating, literally, on blind instinct. I stood there, blinded and paralyzed, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. Then, out of the glare, I heard a woman’s voice offering to help me. My eyesight came back to the sight of an attractive lady sales clerk plucking several pairs of frilly red panties from my arms and hands. I stared in amazement at these ladies undergarments that were so light and flimsy they felt like absolutely nothing. I looked around and saw there were more panties on the floor. I couldn’t say they covered the floor because all of them put together wouldn’t have covered a postage stamp. Which, I suppose, is the idea. Then I noticed the huge ice-cream stain on the front of my sweater and I could only hope that the lady sales clerk wouldn’t think it was drool. I babbled something about being dazzled by the lights and the sales clerk responded that most men were dazzled the first time they came into Victoria’s Secret. How did she know it was my first time, I wondered? At last I was free to explore the rest of the store and, I have to say, I began to understand the reason for the bight lights because some of the things you see in a Victoria’s Secret store you can’t believe your eyes. I also noticed I was not the only man in there with his collar raised and his hat pulled down. After about 10 minutes of wandering hopelessly around I found a pair of pyjamas I though my wife would like, they looked comfortable and warm. In fact, they were the only items in the store that could possibly be defined as either comfortable or warm. The same clerk who rescued me from the panty ambush checked me out and wrapped the gift in; you guessed it, pink wrapping paper. As I left she told me if I ever wanted to return she was sure it would be OK. I told her I might just do that but it would have to be in another life: A life not filled with ice-cream cones, bright lights, flying red panties, and giggling students. The End
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
