While visiting the ever spacious Mall of America this past weekend, I entered the sensory overload station, AKA Victoria’s Secret. While I was in the store watching my female companion flip through shelf upon shelf of patterned panties, the only other male in the store passed by. We both glanced at each other giving the ubiquitous nod of manly-assurance. The nod that says, I too am in hell because my mind forces me to picture every female in the store in the garmet that she is about to purchase. Mind you this is a horrible thing. Why? You ask. Well, because there should be an age/weight detector at the door. You try to hold back the upchuck when a 65-year bearded woman holds up a pair of crotch-less panties to her gravy-filled body and then asks her equally obese friend – how ’bout this? *pause for vomit*
