It was a beautiful-mid-June day. After a pleasant drive with my car windows down, I entered my favorite discount department store, grabbed a shopping buggy and skillfully wheeled it into the candy aisle. Pleased that I was able to limit myself to just two bags of delicious chocolate chewiness, I decided to spend a few minutes “browsing,” which is, according to the authoritative Roget’s Thesaurus, synonymous with “exercising.” Look it up if you don’t believe me.
I hit all my favorite departments…electronics, automotive, sporting goods…picking up a few non-essentials along the way while being completely cognizant of the fact that my testosterone-enriched home environment could use a good airing out. Making my way across the back of the store, I turned up the main aisle and headed toward the checkout counter. About halfway up the aisle something caught my eye. There hugging the women’s lingerie department next to the store’s main thoroughfare was a new display rack filled with lacy thongs.
Not sure if I was just feeling plucky or if my blood sugar was plummeting, I paused to examine the “goods” without so much as a single regard for the store’s security cameras or to sufficiently weigh the odds of running into someone I knew.
Copyright © 2015 Patra Taylor