When I got home tonight, a letter addressed to me from Victoria's Secret sat on the kitchen table. "It's your birthday Big Boy. Treat yourself" in large bold type jumped out at me. It looked suspiciously compromised. Like someone other than the addresse had peaked inside. I guess my darling wife could not contain her curiosity. Neither could I. So I looked at the card inside. A $10 gift card indicated that I could save a bundle off my next purchase of dainty and sexy under things. Damn! Just last week I spotted this lacy ensemble at Kohl's for half price and they had it in Queen size and it was so pink it hurt my eyes. I had to have it. So I shot my deviant budget for the month. And then what happens? Victoria sends me a coupon and I can't take advantage of it.
Actually, this silly scenario ran through my mind as I tried to figure out why Victoria's Secret would think I would want some of their wares. Especially since they were using my birthday as an excuse to reach out and touch me. A gift card from LL Bean would make sense. I could save a bit off my next big outdoor purchase. Save $10 on that $500 kayak. But split crotch undies and strapless bras?
This attempted connection made me roll back my recent memory tape. What sites had I visited recently that, well, you know, show naked people and stuff. I could not retrieve any recent visit from the dustbin of my mind. I was not much of a porn site surfer. There's only so many ways they can exhibit the nasty bits in action before it all just gets redundant and boring.
So the Secret has me on their radar now. Great. More junk mail to toss. I will say though, I did puff up a tad when they called me "Big Boy".
