What Is Her Secret?

Awhile back I was standing in line at Victoria's Secret during the middle of a Big Sale.  And the entire range of womanhood was on display here, along with all the questions I had ever wanted to ask God about life and the feminine journey.

The girl ahead of me in line was twenty-three-ish.  Willowy figure.  Long brown ponytail.  She was careless with her beauty, wearing blue jeans, a clingy t-shirt, and forgettable sandals.  She was buying a gray t-shirt fabric bra and gray t-shirt fabric underwear that might look a whole lot like the ones her boyfriend wore.  If she tried, she could not possibly find anything more boring in the entire store.

The woman behind me was sixty-three-ish.  Approximately one foot wider than I.  One foot shorter than I as well.  She was buying a satin leopard print bra and matching bikini underwear.  If she tried, she could not possibly find anything more provocative in the entire store.  They don't sell whips there, do they?

I was between them, literally, figuratively, and lingerie-ily.  A forty-something year old with bits of raspberry lace in my shopping basket.

The line moved with glacier-like speed, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to say to the girl, "Oh honey.  This is the best your body will ever look in your whole life.  Go on, get the leopard print thong and give your boyfriend a thrill, and when you're eighty years old, you'll have a great story to tell.  Don't leave any cards on the table, Sugar.  Go ahead and play them while you can."  But I didn't.

We inched forward, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to say to the woman behind me, "Darlin', how do you do it?  You must have the best and the luckiest man on the planet.  I am so jealous of your confidence and passion and the fact that you are completely okay with this.  What is your secret?"  But I didn't.

Onward we crept.  Rather than intruding on these unsuspecting women whose intimate lives were on display to snoops like me, I made up stories about them.  In my alternate reality, Brunette 23-year-old was a law school student, couldn't afford the fancy stuff, but vowed that one day she would.  By God, one day she would make Partner and she would have that expensive silk nightie and garter belt with silk stockings, and she would make HIM beg.

That made me feel better, so I continued my mental wandering.  Brunette 63-year-old was the wife of a devoted husband just coming off six months of chemo, and they were celebrating with a weekend away, trying to pick up the pieces of their love.  And she wanted to make it special.  Neither would beg for anything other than a few more years together.

I stood there and contemplated the zig zags of life.  When it was finally my turn, I stepped forward with tears rolling down my cheeks.   (Damn hormones.)  The checkout cherub with the silken decolletage apologized.  "I'm so sorry you had to wait.  Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, I did.  Thank you."