Bra Department

Somehow, I can hear the conversation.  I wasn't there, but the words reverberate in my brain.

Female Shopper. "There's a pervert standing in the bra section, over by the dressing rooms.  He's been there for the last twenty minutes or so, just STANDING by the dressing rooms."

Store Mgr.  "I'll take care of it for you.  Can you point him out?"

Female Shopper.  "Of Course!  He's just standing there,  Must be a pervert.""

I'm sure it went something like that, 'cause I could see a female shopper kinda hiding behind a table full of women's panties as the effeminate store manager sashayed up to me.  He was on the smallish side, but packed full of courage and authority.  If I were in his place, "taking care" of a problem as tall and heavy as me, I would have been sure to have several warehouse workers within shouting distance.  He came by himself, and one of these days, in his profession, that behavior is gonna cost him dearly. 

Well, he was not entirely alone - the female shopper was hiding out around there to lend a scream or two if things went horribly wrong.  And a scream, ya know, will help a lot in a fight between a midget and a moose.

He walked up and said. "Sir, may I help you find something?  I'm the Store Manager, and it's been reported that a man is just standing in the undergarment section, and some of the ladies are concerned." 

At least he was honest, and straight forward.  No beating around the bush, just a straight up reason why he was there.  It's just possible a REAL pervert, one who slinks and lurks in areas where no male should ever be, would cower and beat a swift retreat from this dwarf of a man just because of his businesslike manner.  It's also possible the manager would wind up with one or more bruises he could display to his significant other a little later in the day.

Ah, I'm just starting to learn the indignities a caregiver must learn to deal with.  My disabled wife was having a fairly good day today, and since she wanted to pick up a few new things to wear, we went shopping.  Good days are not to be wasted, and Lord knows I'll never be able to try on clothes that will fit her.  I could probably try stuff her size, but by the time it was on my rotund body, most of the seams would be split.

I explained a little about my wife's condition to him, and let him know just which door in the dressing rooms she was behind.  I told him it takes her a lot longer to change from one set of pants to another than most because she has a severe balance problem.  I needed to be exactly where I was for the better part of the next hour, in a position to see if she fell to the floor, so I could help her if she ran into a problem.  Further, I let him know I'd MUCH prefer to be in the sporting goods department, trying the fit of a rifle to my shoulder, than to be in my current location, the middle of the bra aisle.  I winked at him and said, "Bras are OK, ya know, but I prefer to play with them while they are being worn." 

Well, having established my credentials in the most manly way possible,  I told him my wife really enjoys the clothes he carries in his store for her everyday, around the house apparel, and let him know we would be back.  "Hopefully," I said, "You'll remember and be able to let any other folks with similar concerns know what is going on when we come back."  He accepted the information, thanked me for shopping with them, turned and left.

I saw him stop next to the woman who was still hiding and watching.  He said a few words to her and continued on his way.  She left the comfort she had found, behind the panties, and continued to shop.

I've got to tell you, I probably am a perverted individual.  Not in the way she at first thought, but in my sense of humor.   It was all I could do to keep myself from fondling the bras on the racks in front of me as she passed by. 

Just to see the look on her face.