That's right, take an over-sized bumbling idiot like myself, and drop him off in the bra and panties section of Macy's and watch what transpires.
My wife's 49th birthday is today and I went shopping yesterday morning for clothing that she desperately needed. Again, in case you don't know, she had a stroke at the end of December, last year, and now I take care of most things that she did oh so well.
Anywho (no, I didn't get the letters backwards) I realized she needed new undergarments and thought that'd be the perfect gift for her. So off to Macy's I went, back into the area of women's unmentionables, and without knowing her actual size in these things, I started rummaging. The rummaging brought forth grumbling, and the grumbling brought forth my cellphone. "Hey sis, um, I'm at Macy's trying to get Marcie some bra's and panties and I have know clue what the hell I'm doing! Do you think it's possible for you to join me here and give me some help?"
Sis was there in about 20 minutes, I saw her coming down the aisle shaking her head and laughing.
See, I was holding some of the loose panties up to my hips trying to get some friggin' idea, maybe close, of her size. Does this work? Hell no! I'm a 40 in the waist.
My sister proceeded to set me straight on the differences in bikini, briefs, etc. and then called my daughter for mom's bra size. I settled on a six pack of Fruit of the Loom bikini style, and three plain old regular 36 C pink, white and baby blue bras made by somebody or another, I don't know.
Screw that! I felt like a big old perv, cruisin' the undies section, gettin' my jollies. I was merely a husband on a mission.
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