Last Wednesday, while toiling away at work, my mind drifted off on one tangent after the other. Eventually, my sometimes overly-critical inner self focused in on my own personal shortcomings. It was then that I realized that I, a woman just shy of 21 years, have never purchased anything, not even perfume, from that terrifyingly pink shop known as Victoria's Secret, despite having worked in the same building for over a year.
This shocking revelation caused me to pay even less attention to my job, and more to myself. Why haven't I shopped there before? Have I even been in to Victoria's Secret? I had, but only briefly, in an attempt to make my grumpy boyfriend and shopping companion even more grumpy and uncomfortable.
After several painful moments of consideration, I realized the answer to my question: I am a wimp. A nervous, self conscious, and easily embarrassed coward who can't even begin to bear the thought of what others who have no idea who I am might think of me.
I chewed on this sour bit of cud for the next few hours as I finished my shift. Then, snatching my purple bag covered in bright, glittery beads, I headed towards Victoria's Secret. My mission: to overcome my irrational fear and buy the most devastatingly sexy piece of lingerie I could afford.
The hike to Victoria's Secret seemed impossibly long, and I found myself staunchly resisting the urge to turn around, run to my truck, and never think of this moment again. Every minute muscle twitching in confused frustration, I slowly made progress towards the store, periodically pausing to browse in less intimidating places of business.
Eventually I could no longer avoid my destination and, taking a cursory glance at the faces swarming around me to make sure no one I knew saw me enter that naughty, naughty store, I hastily stepped inside.
Upon entering Victoria's Secret, I found myself pleasantly surprised. This was not the trashy store that supplied the wardrobes of countless bordellos that the church I grew up in always described it as. No! In fact, at first glance, I saw more sweat pants, tank tops, and perfume than anything else. Even as I progressed to the deeper recesses of the store, I didn't find anything remotely startling. Even the tiny cherry blossom pink and black French maid outfit seemed tastefully done believe it or not. As my comfort level grew, I gradually began to take a closer look at the pieces I liked, eventually becoming bold enough to check the prices and, shockingly enough, cup size.
After spending a lengthy hour in this increasingly comfortable setting and declining the assistance of several very kind employees, I settled on a babydoll top of sheer black lace and pale pink trim and a matching G string for $38.
Overall, it was a pleasant experience. After overcoming my initial fear, I found myself having a good time and surely appreciated the confidence boost I received by purchasing something sexy for myself. To many, this may have seemed a trivial experience. To me, it was one of momentous occasion. Slowly, surely, I creep ever forward into my own self, remembering and respecting how I was raised, but no longer feeling fettered and restrained.
