The Season Finale :)Part One is here.
Part Two is here.
Part Three is here.
###The streets of Honolulu were hot and humid as I walked along the upscale
of course it was
district leading to Victoria’s Secret.
Stores like PRADA and COACH were here and I passed Armani Exchange and its sandwich board advertising a special: Men’s Shorts: two for $88.Holding No. 2 son, while pushing baby, I kept a low profile so Hawaii 5-0 wouldn’t arrest me for neglecting my shoeless son…
Bad parent! Bad parent!
And then, there she was.Victoria, and all her secrets.
I’ve never been so happy to see a half-naked, sexy woman in a window – even after living in Amsterdam for three years.
I walked into the blessed relief of air conditioned bras.And panties.
I looked around.
Good grief, where do I begin?
A lady in black caught my terror-struck eyes and immediately asked if I needed any help?“Look, Papa, it’s a construction hat…”
“Oh, yes, please can you help... Son, get your bloody head out of that bra…”
Curtailing the able-bodied boys, I fished out my wife’s wish list.“Do you have these… please?” I blubbered.
“Ah yes, sure, follow me upstairs.”
“There’s a second floor… There’s more bras and panties?”
(I own eight pairs of boxers – the extra one is for emergencies… I’m not getting any younger, you see.)
“Yes, sir. And, the elevator is right over here…”
A what?No! Please not that…
“I can carry the stroller up the stairs, if you like?” I asked hopefully.She shook her head, and we gathered outside the steel door.
It opened. The boys ran in and No. 2 Son looked for “Light! Light ON.”I stood guard over the few buttons and smiled at my guardian angel (who must have left those big wing things at home.)
Exiting, she brought me to one corner, where hundreds and hundreds of panties lay on display.
Rows and rows... it was like a rainbow of panties...
Finally, I caught a break. The boys found a huge loveseat (of course) and were busy beating each other to a bloody pulp.
My sweet, well-behaved (semi-shoeless) boys.
And, then she bent to pull on a drawer.
My eyes bugged, I mean literally, they nearly popped out.
I looked down, across… and then behind me.
There were dozens of drawers, all full of drawers.
I stared at this one drawer though – my holy grail of panties.
Imagining a white light (and some Gregorian chanting) emanating from the back of the drawer, I looked up at my Angel.
“Is this it? Is this what I came for?”
Thanking her so very much for her wonderful help, I mustered the troops.
“Guys, come here, quick!”
|No. 1 Son picked (from the ground) this mango for Mama|
As I made our way to the cashier, a “buy something for yourself, too…” memory hit me, but my internal battery was down to one flashing red bar.
I had a headache.
We paid – and after an uneventful walk of shame…
“Look Mama, that boy over there with the bald man, he has no shoes.”
“Shh, dahling, don’t talk about poor people like that – and besides, look at these two cheap pairs of shorts I bought your father.”
…we made it back to the van, drove home... and that’s the end.
NO WAY, dude that sucks… what really happened?
OK, OK…so there is a little more….Suh-weet! Encore, encore!
Ahh, thanks, I’ve never had a writer’s encore before…
Fast Forward to Mother’s Day. My wife is enjoying breakfast in bed as I share the adventure of the previous Friday…
No. 1 Son decides it’s good to share.
“I had no shoes, Mama, I walked with no shoes!”Thank. You. Son.
“You’re Welcome, Papa!”
Anyway, it is with immense pride that I watched my beloved remove her five new undies – the spoils of my now infamous panty raid.
Three of the five panties were the wrong style.
Two of the five were the wrong size.
Gentlemen, the moral of the story is…Don’t let this happen to you.
|And, always have flowers in your back up plan :)|