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Some elderly lady wouldn’t let me help her find some underwear she was looking for a couple of days ago. Every other sentence was, “Is there maybe a girl working?” I really wanted to tell her something along the lines of:

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you can barely even describe what you’re looking for–give me a chance to help you, and I’ll attempt to help you. To be honest, I’ve probably touched more panties in the past three weeks than you have ever worn. Every single pair of panties on this table was either removed from a box or organized in the drawers by my hands. Sorry for going out on a limb and assuming this, but we keep all our ‘granny panties’ on a table in the back room.”

Oddly enough, when I got a female representative to help her, the girl guided her to the High Leg Briefs in the back (a.k.a. the Granny Panties). I simply shook my head and prevented myself by yelling “I told you so” after her by reminding myself that I hadn’t actually said anything to this lady besides, “What are you looking for” and “Of course I can find you a female sales representative.”

Some girl came in looking for G-strings. I showed her where the String and Double String Thongs were, but before she could go she found and held up what she was really looking for. I told her those were called String Bikinis and laughed a little. She said, “Wow, I guess you know more about panties than I do.” We both laughed because I obviously do. No, really–I tend to know more about panties than the people who actually wear them…isn’t that kind of sad? Barring my place of employment, there is no logical reason for me to ever know the difference between High Rise and Low Rise panties, Hipsters and Cheeky Hipsters, Bikinis and String Bikinis. But I do. And sometimes that’s awesome.

To be fair, I wear boxers. I don’t have to have a broad knowledge of what’s embracing my dangly parts.


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