I remember when I discovered Victoria’s Secret. I felt as though a veil was lifted and a whole new world of delicate, lacy, beautiful unmentionables were waiting to bridge the gap between my clothes and my lady parts.
From that day forward I swore off the multi-pack of Haynes from Walmart that never fit quite right and went unashamedly with arms wide open to the store men dare not enter. I joined the secret club of women who could dress like a train jumping dumpster diver on the outside knowing that underneath the slouch was a feminine tiger ready to pounce.
Back in the early days of my discovery the process was simple: walk in, sift through the drawers to find my size, make sure no lady juice is on them from someone gross trying them on, take my purchase to the counter, pay for said purchase, get my receipt, walk out. Simple. Straightforward. Anonymous. Now, however, the game has changed.
These days I’m already frustrated by the time I walk in from dodging the super-aggressive (albeit very flattering) mall kiosk guy with the long, greasy black ponytail, black slim-fitted shirt unbuttoned to showcase his nipples asking if I flat iron my hair and the guys demo-ing the bouncy balls that my kids HAVE TO HAVE! I make my way to what I need, get to the counter and then it happens: “What’s your email for rewards?” The lady behind the counter stares at me while I contemplate the consequence of not answering her question. I finally decide it’ll probably be quicker to just give it to her.
Lady behind the counter: “Is that with a ‘c’ or a ‘k’?
Me: “‘c’ And then a ‘d’
Lady: “Did you say ‘v’ or ‘b’?”
Me: “‘d’. As in ‘delta’ and then my last name. From my card. Just copy that.
Lady: “Please verify from the screen.”
Me: “Nope. It’s Erica with an ‘E’ not an ‘A’. That’s not really a thing. And you didn’t get the middle initial.”
Lady: “You can just type it in.”
Me: “So I could have saved the last 10 painful minutes of my life and typed it in all along?”
Lady: “I like to help my guests out. You’re total today is $150.”
Me: “What? I only got 5 pair of underwear. Isn’t it 5 for $25?”
Lady: “You have premium panties that aren’t a part of that. Also, it’s now 5 for $35.”
Me: defeated, walks out. “Kids, let’s go get ice cream. Mommy needs sprinkles.”
So now I hate shopping for underwear. And soaps. Thanks, Bath & Body Works. Can we all agree that stores need to STOP ASKING FOR EMAILS?????????? Listen, if you want my info, put out an app and scan it like Starbucks. Or Chick Fil A. Cuz my mental well-being can’t take it. And I don’t want to kill people. I’m frustrated. But at least I’m pretty.