Saturday, September 27, 2008

And While We're on the Subject...

Some of my most treasured moments from my life in Minnesota revolve around the semi-annual sale at Victoria's Secret. If there's one thing Lutherans like, it's a good sale, a good bargain. And if those sales and bargains involve bins--you know, bins they have to dig through--all the better. This lets them show their chops, their skill. This lets them show just how thrifty they can be. After all, who in their right mind would pay full price for a pair of Victoria's Secret panties when they are just going to go on sale in six months? The Lutherans will tell you those things are spendy, so you might as well just wait it out.

And, boy, do they ever. Some of the most vicious semi-annual sale bin-digging I ever saw went down in Minnesota, and it went down with Katy at my side. That girl can attack a bin of lacy panties like no one's business, and she will rip a pair of panties out of someone's hands to get her semi-annual quota of cotton skivvies. She will spend an hour examining the contents of each bin, holding up the really perverted pairs--the ones missing a crotch, the ones with flimsy garters, the ones that have sayings like Knock! Knock! on the front (or back)--until she has exhausted herself.

This might explain why I go into mourning around the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale. I've gone with my mother, with my Pink Torpedoes, with my cousin, even with the Boy From Work, but no one gets as big of a kick out of the sale as Katy. And now that I am nowhere near her, I have to dig through those bins by myself, mentally cataloguing all the funny or disturbing designs so that I can call her later and ask her if she got to see them, if she bought any for herself.

During this summer's semi-annual sale, I went a little crazy. I went at those bins like I was some sweet Lutheran girl, filled with hot dish and hope, and bought a large assortment of new panties for my collection. One of the pairs was a turquoise hipster affair with Swiss dots and ruffles and silver bows. They were the type of panties I imagined some blue-eyed milk maid slipping into before she went off to herd goats and sing songs about cheese. They were adorable.

So you can imagine my delight when I opened my birthday package from Katy--the one that contained origami, Spam singles, kitten treats, kitten toys, and Hello Kitty paraphernalia, as well as a card that included a hilarious joke about grammar--and found the same pair of panties I'd scooped up for myself a few months before.

The support for our eventual marriage continues to compound.

But seriously--just how well does the girl know me? We might as well get married--it's clear that it's already crossed her mind, so maybe we should just get it over with already. I can just picture it now: a reception with plenty of Mich Golden (kegs of it, lousy with olives), Katy in a tux, and a slow dance to some tune by Chicago. I can guarantee it would be one hell of a time.


Casey Sween said...

Ooh, can I wear one of those tuxedo T-shirt things? That's classy.

Jason said...

Did you know that Minnesota is the only place in the US where MGD means "Michelob Golden Draft" and not "Miller Genuine Draft?" I know this because a bartender told me, and bartenders never lie.

Doesn't matter--both are shitty beers.