One of the perks of being married a long time is that you know what and what not to get your wife for Christmas. Trolling motors are out. Ditto vacuum cleaners. Jewelry’s always a winner, especially if it’s so expensive you have to hock your boat to pay for it.
We old dogs who’ve been hanging out in the Christmas shopping for wives market long enough have figured out the kinds of gifts that’ll make the mistress of the house squeal with delight and give us the petting we desire, as well as those that’ll land us in the dog house straightaway on Christmas morning.
There’s no quicker way to make your special lady glow than buying her lingerie, especially the sexy stuff. Most women love lingerie, guys. They love guys who suck up their embarrassment and go shopping for it, too. I learned early in my marriage that, beyond learning how to cook and shop for the best jewelry, the quickest entry in my wife’s heart of hearts was through the door of a Victoria’s Secret store.
I know guys fantasize about seeing their ladies in the company’s spicy wares. I even read somewhere that men, for some reason, look at a Victoria’s Secret catalogues as much as women do. Go figure. But most men are squeamish about actually entering a store and chatting up a young lady who’s young enough to be our daughter or little sister about such intimacies as bras, panties, cup sizes, teddies, black silk baby dolls and red satin bustiers trimmed in white fur, complete with sleigh bell and matching Santa Claus cap. Whooee! Dear Santa. I’ve been a very naughty boy, I’m afraid.
If you can hide your male awkwardness about walking in and fondling all the pretty bare necessities, your halfway to home plate. I remember the first time my wife dragged me into a Victoria’s Secret. After my initial shock wore off, it was kinda fun. Okay, while my wife was shopping, I snuck back to the store for a peek five more times.
Now, I’m a regular. I even have a platinum Angel V.I.P. card. Guys, if you have one of those and show it the moment you set foot in Victoria’s Secret, you’ll be swarmed with enough pretty lassies to have made Hugh Heffner jealous – all of them just dying to wait on you hand and foot. And they make your experience embarrassment proof, too.
My first shopping expedition alone to Victoria’s Secret was a smidgen on the clumsy side. My palms were sweating, my heart was pounding and I kept waiting for a female patron to point at me and scream, “Pervert!” A very pretty and vivacious saleslady quickly saw my discomfort and rushed to my aid.
“May I help you find something, sir? she asked, with a show-stopping smile.
“Uh, yeh,” I replied, sotto voce. “Where are the puh-puh-puh…” She tipped me a sly wink.
“The panties, you mean? First time shopping here, huh? Don’t worry, nothing here will bite you. Give me an idea what you’re looking for and I’ll help you pick it out, then wrap it and ring it up for you.”
And she did. Two hundred and fifty bucks later, I was whistling Jingle Bell Rock and feeling as randy as Don Juan. Christmas at our house was very merry!
Over the years, I’ve schooled numerous young men about the mutual benefits of selecting their wives’ dainties at Victoria’s Secret. Once too embarrassed to be seen in the same mall with me carrying the store’s trademark big, pink shopping bag, my own sons are now Victoria’s Secret devotees. Their wives love them for it, too.
Years ago, I was in a Victoria’s Secret store and noticed a young guy cringing beside a display of very scanty panties. He’d pick up a pair, drop them like a venomous snake, then glance around like a kid sneaking his first cigarette. He finally worked up the courage to ask me how to know what size panties to buy his wife. I told him to look in his wife’s panty and lingerie drawer and get her sizes. I might as well have told him to go search for the Holy Grail.
Then I saw the gold Angel card he clutched in one trembling hand and told him, in knowing tones, that if he’d just wave that little gold card in the air, his problems would be solved in a jiff.
I saw the kid later in the mall. He was whistling Jingle Bell Rock, grinning like a mule eating briars through a barbwire fence and toting one of those big, pink shopping bags. In plain view as a pair of red silk panties with Kiss me, Santa,” embroidered on them. Every young lady he passed winked at him and smiled. They knew.
I’ll bet he had a very merry Christmas. Guess he’s still grinning.