OPINION: A Valentine’s Day victim of Victoria’s Secret
As Valentine’s Day approached this year, I was at a loss regarding how to surprise my wife with a gift that would truly show my love and appreciation to her for not smothering me in my sleep. My daughters had presented their Valentine’s wish lists (yes, wish lists) shortly after Christmas, so I’d already financed their gifts. But my wife (who never asks for anything other than that I avoid playing with that app on my phone that makes 500 different bodily noises — in church) was a harder nut to crack.
Then the clouds parted when I checked the mail recently to find, addressed to me, a special offer from Victoria’s Secret. My internal rejoicing over my coupon was suddenly interrupted, however, when I read the horrifying phrase in fine print, “In-store only.” I didn’t even think men were allowed in that place. In fact, whenever I go the mall, I risk contact with the mall kiosk salespeople hawking bespangled phone cases, Dead Sea beauty cream, and Dippin’ Dots as I veer away and avert my eyes from the Victoria’s Secret entrance, festooned with mannequins who forgot to put on their pants. This time, though, I was determined I wouldn’t let my self-respect keep me from making a romantic gesture at a discount.
Apparently, underwear at Victoria’s Secret is categorized according to how much of it is missing. As I snuck through the store, I expected at any moment to see a table display featuring nothing but spools of thread. When I finally found something I could identify as human garments, I then had to find the correct size, which involved rifling through storage bins below the display table and constantly looking over my shoulder like a maniac to see if anyone was watching.