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Sunday, March 7, 2010

The Neuroscience of Underwear

Last week in the Lingerie Department, I helped a disturbingly fat grey-haired attorney and his giant-breasted wife find pajamas for his mother and a gift for a friend's wife-to-be. The attorney was your usual ruddy choleric windbag of a plaintiff's man, and he enjoyed asking all of us our bra sizes and then laughing, saying, "Oh, I shouldn't ask strangers about that." Ha ha ha. Yessir, you are hilarious. Meanwhile, his wife darted around, obviously embarrassed by his behavior, wielding her therapy dog (a Schnauzer) like an emotional shield.

The attorney was disturbed by the pajamas his mother, who was living with the couple, normally wore, because he could see her large pendulous tits outlined clearly through them. I hooked them up with a little loungewear complete with thick hoodie to hide the poor woman's shame.

The gift for the wife-to-be was a bizarre thing to seek. The attorney kept looking at thongs and sheer chemisettes, telling me the woman had just had a baby and was proud of how she'd gotten her figure back so quickly. "And she's got huge...breasts," he said proudly, as if they were his own. The wife wanted to get her a cami and underwear set. I thought both things were pretty damn intimate gifts, especially from a couple to a friend. "Yuck," I thought, "Swingers." They settled on a black lace cami and thong set. Ugh.

Mr. Attorney just wanted to chat, chat, chat. At one point he informed me that his brother was a neuroscientist who lectures all around the country. Apparently, on one trip, his luggage was lost and he had to wear his wife's underwear to a conference. He discovered he loved it and now buys nothing but silky soft ladies' bikinis.

All things considered, I'd rather hang out with the brother.

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