My Life Is One Long String of Embarrassing Underwear Stories

This morning I went to Macy's, the upscale department store, with the intent to exchange some silken pajamas I received for Christmas. Instead, I exchanged my good social standing for a face full of scarlet and another pitiful blog post.

The plan was to jog to my grandma's house to watch the Bowl game, where I would change into un-sweat-nasty clothing (packed over in a random plastic bag) and head to the mall during half time.

After what I thought was a complete change in garments, I made the drive, found some alternate classy silken pajamas (floral print--pinkies out, grandmothers everywhere), and brought the merchandise to the service counter.

This is my silken pajamas posing with Jordan's infamous picture-ruining face.

There were several service counters open, but I picked the one manned by a younger lady dressed in a swanky black dress, figuring she wouldn't bother me with small-talk; there was a football game awaiting my swift return. I overlooked one small detail: younger lady was actually the devil's niece, and she possessed a dangerous sense of humor.

"I can help you right here," she said without sparing a smile. No, it would be business as usual at this service desk.

"I just need to make an exchange," I said without sparing a smile. Yes swanky sales associate, it will be competition as usual for this I-can-be-serious-too simpleton.

Taking my bag and rifling through the contents with her ritzy, recently-polished fake nails, she daintily removed a crumpled black article of clothing that I did not want to exchange.

"Would you like these, m'am?" She asked as she dangled my skivvies a foot above her head where the long line of people behind me surely wouldn't look.

At first glance it would appear as thought the devil's niece betrayed no emotion. However, the laughter in her eyes did not escape my notice.

"Yaaaa . . . that's awkward," I muttered under my breath as I snagged the under-my-wear clothing from the grasp of her evil shiny clutches and shoved it inside my purse. Fortunately for my friends standing behind me, I've recently done away with boring whitey-tighties. It was a good day for them.

Upon completion of the exchange, I found a gray maxi skirt on clearance and went up two floors merely to distance myself from everyone on the entire level. The male sales associate up here was jovial, large, slightly feminine, and much inclined towards small-talk.

Ironically, I then went to a different store and bought more underwear to make the pain go away.

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