Red Panties

    Yesterday, as usual, we stopped at the outlet mall in North Bend on our way to Seattle. We do this, in part, to buy clothes, but mostly we are there to buy time until the 5 p.m. Seattle traffic slows down. Wrong expression. Our goal is for the traffic to finally speed up. If we leave Kalispell around 8 and stop for lunch and gas, we wind up hitting Seattle at rush hour. To us small town folks, Seattle traffic is bad enough without adding 5 p.m. to the mayhem. Our favorite store at the outlets is Vanity Fair. Despite the name, it is more a source of Levis than lingerie. All of the jeans I have purchased in the past five years have come from Vanity Fair. Reed particularly likes their heavy Wrangler work shirts. While he selected three of those, I bought jeans, a shirt, and a purse for myself. Vanity Fair always has a rack of good quality panties for $2.47 and I usually buy a pair. Underwear shopping is never my idea of fun, but the $2.47 rack makes it manageable. Even though nobody sees them, which at my age and weight is a very good thing, I try to pick a color that I look good in, or at least feel good about. If I cannot flatter my figure, I can at least have fun with it. So, for the second time in my life, I bought red panties.
     A nice young man rang up my purchases. Guess which item didn't scan? Had to be "man"handled over and over? Eventually had to be hand keyed into the register one scarlet number at a time? The red panties. I was hoping he thought I bought them for someone else, since the image of an overweight, 61 year old grandmother in red panties is a burden even a strong young man should not have to carry. I should have known those rebellious red panties would not be content to rest quietly in my underwear drawer, they would find a way to draw attention to themselves. I have to admit though, they matched nicely with my red face.