This was the case when I decided to leave my house for a solo trip to the grocery store. Since Saturday night parking spots are the Holy Grail in Hollywood, I did not give up my coveted spot next to the local pile of mysterious hooker-torso-shaped oozing trash bags, and elected to walk.
This required full body and facial armor.
It's LA, trick.
I donned my usual grubby shirt and hoodie, then thought better and decided to go with biological camouflage rather than armor. I put on makeup, then changed out of my clothes and into:
(dramatic sexy chord)
A MATCHING SET OF BRA AND PANTIES.
Lacy panties and bra, to be exact. White. They're hella cute.
As I walked Hollywood Blvd to get to Trader Joe's, our grocery store, I noticed people looking at me. The biological camo was working- instead of INvisible, I was highly visible. And a high-profile target is sometimes too much pressure. My ploy worked, and aside from a couple of guys making complimentary mutterings, I passed the gauntlet unscathed.
At the grocery store, my confidence had peaked. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the jeans were working their magic. The fact that I've lost 20 lbs was working for me. Hell, even one of the bums had said I was a fine mumblemuttermumble, so it must be true.
Somewhere along the frozen food aisle, right next to the tilapia fillets, I saw two Trader Joe's employees approaching. They were smiling. Why shouldn't they? I was looking hot.
"Lacies," one said, grinning at the other.
"Definitely lacies," agreed his friend.
I was stunned. How did they know??? Of all the guesses... I flushed appropriately, waited for them to pass, then felt the small of my back- nope- no whale tail hanging out... How could they have been so accurate?
Flummoxed and slightly indignant, I gathered my composure while pretending to look at trout, then decided I had to know.
I had a RIGHT to know, dammit. How could two grocery store employees see, with Superhuman accuracy, the source of my power. I felt naked, exposed- and indignant. I marched back to the beef section, where one of the perpetrators was slicing meat.
"Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation back there."
"Oh, really?" He asks.
Busted. I have him now. I summon my courage, ready to lord it over him.
"Yeah. So, what's so lacy?"
He stammers. "Ummm."
"You were commenting about lacies, so I wanted to know," I say, pretending to innocently shrug my shoulders.
"Oh!" He says, brightening. "Come here, I'll show you."
Now I'm the one confused.
He takes me to the next aisle over and hands me a container of cookies.
"We're almost out of Lacie's Cookies- they're the best, but we have to keep restocking them.
"
Oh god.
Oh Jesus.
"So they're that good, hunh?" I manage, lamely.
"Oh yeah. You gotta try them. Lacie's are the best."
...$3.99 plus tax later, I'm home safe in my dangerous confidence-boosting underwear and bra and jeans, but I definitely left my pride in the snack aisle.
At least I have cookies to console me.
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