Bulging packages. Yeah, I said it.

Alright, so work was slow today. Really slow. So slow, that I spent 2 hours detailing the men's sweats. Happily.

Prior to that, however, I asked my boss what she wanted me to do. She told me to fill the men's underwear.

Can I just stop for a moment and dwell on how pervy I feel filling men's underwear? It's not that I feel weird touching the packages that hold the scraps of cloth that will eventually be spending quality time with some stranger's private areas (though now that I'm thinking about it like that, it doesn't make it any better, either), but mostly the problem is this: the packages are covered in men in underwear. And not their faces either, oh no, it's a whole big crotch-shot party in the men's underwear section. Nothing but bulging packages all around me (pun completely and shamelessly intended). I pick up a package of underwear, my hands are all over some dude's crotch.

I do have to say, though, that it make me laugh when I'm stocking underwear and teenage guys come in to the department. Some of them try to mess with me (and I mess with them right back), but most--especially the ones with their mothers--try to avoid whichever aisle I'm currently in, grab the first semi-acceptable thing they can while fastidiously avoiding eye contact, and leave as silently and quickly as possible.

I have to to giggle a little when that happens.

And then there's the guys, like the proceeding one, who think they'll have some fun with me and get the tables turned on them.

I'm stocking t's, which are right next to the underwear.

Dude: "Hey, can I ask you something?"
Me: "Sure. What can I help you with?"
Dude: "Well, I was just wondering, do you think I'd look good in these?"
[Holds up a package of men's thongs.]
[I look him up and down.]
Me: "Oh yeah, you could definitely pull it off."
[said with complete sincerity]

He blushed, stuck the thongs back on their hook, and walked away. Don't mess with me, boys. I have four brothers, and spent 3 of my 4 years of college practically living in my husband's fraternity house. You aren't going to make me blush.

Still, I feel like a perv fondling all the underwear packages of models who are obviously toting an extra sock or two around in their drawers.