The Secret To Shopping At Victoria's Secret

With the Wife fortunate enough to land herself a paid summer internship, we had to buy some suits so she'd look like, ya know, a lawyer. We went to Lakeforest Mall, a mall that'll never be confused with Montgomery Mall, to see what it offered. While perusing the stores (finding suits at The Limited), the Wife just had to visit Victoria's Secret. Ever full of bravado, ever hyper self-aware, and ever married, I ventured in with her.

I could have stayed outside and waited for her to buy what she needed. I could have stayed outside and looked at HDTVs. I could have stayed outside and stuffed my face with sample "chicken" or "beef" from the food court, nevermind they all taste the same.

But no. I went inside. Dead Man Walking.

Seems like Victoria's Secret has a new line of bras, for Heidi Klum to model, every 6 months that's always the softest, highest lifting one yet.

Victoria's Secret is littered with relationship killing land mines. It just begs couples to enter together and leave alone. It dares you to guess at your SO's sizes...guess too small and she feels bad having to look for a larger size or guess too large and she's even more insulted you thought she was THAT size. If she asks you what you think of something on her and you don't like it, she'll ask you why. You don't want to go there. Deflect and move on like a politician.

I felt seedy being in the store when other women were shopping for their unmentionables. As far as I could tell none of them gave me the evil eye thanks to it being clear that I was with the Wife. But still. Other women were looking at underwear and here I was avoiding eye contact and looking at the floor. I'm sure they didn't want me looking at them then looking at the bras on the rack and putting two and two together.

There's implied X-ray vision when you're the lone guy in the store. Don't be that guy.

Then I started to wonder how Victoria's Secret workers (VSWs) feel at the store. When dealing with another woman it's quite professional and unawkward (if that word exists). Yet, if I went in alone, looking for something special, but didn't know the Wife's sizes, I'd have to use the VSW as a prop. It's not like you can use a half-torso mannequin.

It's like throwing yourself to the wolves...errrr...angels.

Just how do you do that without insulting the VSW or your wife? When you insult one, it's a left-handed compliment for the other. You say someone has a smaller/larger/thinner/curvier "insert what you want here" and the other receives a compliment or insult. Plus, it's awkward just talking to a stranger about what you're buying. 30 seconds ago you were just a random mall shopper; now you're buying something to get laid.

I suppose a conversation would go like this (having always visited with the Wife):

Average Joe (who's not B and T Crowd!): Hi, I'm looking to buy something nice for my wife.

VSW: Great, I'm happy to help. What are you looking for? (Nothing like helping a guy buy something so he can sex-up his wife. It's like buying condoms at Target. We all know what's going down (zing!) or up (double zing!).)

Joe: Thanks. I'm looking for, um, uh, some lingerie. ("Lingerie's" French origin makes it easier to say than "clothes the wife will use to tease me when we, ya know, bump uglies.")

NYC's flagship store opening did not employ everyday VSWs.

VSW: Ok, are you looking for a teddy, bra and panty set, something in lace? (Nothing like asking a stranger what his fetishes are. I love recapping my day at work, "oh honey it was great, I helped this one guy buy stuff so his fantasy would come to life.")

Joe: I don't know her sizes. I guess she likes two-piece things. (Actually, it's all about what I like on her.)

VSW: Ok, we have a lot to choose from. (And I know this purchase is about your happiness and not her's you selfish POS.) How large is her chest? (Cue immediate staring at my chest.)

Joe (pulling eyes up from VSW's chest): I don't know how to describe this. I guess it's kind of like that brunette VSW over there. (I won't make my VSW an object, I'll just objectify her fellow VSW. So slick.)

Even everyone's favorite non-prude, Barney, is uncomfortable with Victoria's Secret.

VSW: Um, ok, so your wife's about average. (Calling her average doesn't insult her nor me, but marrying this guy makes her stupid.)

Joe: I like this rack over here. (I'm so funny making that joke at Victoria's Secret!).

VSW: Let's see what's there (What a douche! Like he's the first to make that pun. I feel sorry for his wife.)

Joe: I really think she'd like this. (Forget her, it's my eyes that matter.)

VSW: Ok, this bra should support her well enough, but what about the bottom? (Cue immediate staring at my ass.)

Joe (pulling eyes up from VSW's butt): For the bottom, I guess I'd say it's like yours. (Who says guys don't compliment women enough?)

VSW: Well let's go with the average woman's size. (Thanks for objectifying me and measuring my bottom half with your wife's, assclown).

Joe: Thanks for your help today. (Because I'm so close to my wife that I don't know her sizes nor was I smart enough to look for them before leaving.)

VSW: My pleasure (I hope your wife leaves you tomorrow because those clothes won't fit her well enough, won't make her feel comfortable (i.e. sexy), and won't get you anywhere. May you have blue balls forever.)

Take that Rockettes!

It's a lose-lose proposition going to Victoria's Secret unless you're comfortable with your SO. Jerry Seinfeld claimed the ultimate relationship test was airport transportation. I disagree. Anybody can do the airport pickup and dropoff, but nobody can shop at Victoria's Secret with or without your SO and exit without internal bleeding.

The secret to Victoria's Secret shopping is to buy the SO a gift card. Just don't ask for advice on which one to choose.