Like Mary Kay Letourneau, Only With Less Statutory Rape
No trip upstate is complete without a visit to Target. We have a Target here, in Brooklyn, but it pales in comparison to your average suburban variety -- it's smaller, dirtier, more crowded and less stocked. So when I arrived at my mother's house in Schenectady, the first thing I said was, "So when can we go to Target?"
The answer to that question was Christmas Eve. Mom wanted to get some DVDs, despite the fact that since I bought her the DVD player in August, she has yet to wrap her head around how the device actually works, even with the detailed instructions I'd left her. We bought TransAmerica and The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Most people would opt for renting, but Mom's trying to build up the DVD collection.
Me? I needed some underwear. I picked up some lace things, some see-through things, some thong things and some g-string things. Then I threw in a few pairs of fishnets for good measure. Mom raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She's done enough of my laundry and walked in on me changing enough times to know what I'm sporting underneath my Levi's.
The teenage boy who rang me up? Obviously not as used to my choice of skivvies as Mom. He turned about six shades of crimson, and then asked me the question he was dreading the answer to.
"Do you want the hangers for these?" he asked with a pleading, please-say-yes-oh-god-don't-make-me-handle-these-any-more-than-I-have-to tone.
"No, that's okay," I said cheerfully. "I don't need them." Mom gave me the "Jess, honestly" look, which starts with raised eyebrows and ends with a double eye roll. I laughed. My cashier turned so red I thought his head might explode as he fumbled with my undies.
"You're terrible," Mom hissed as we walked to the car, but I could tell she was trying not to crack up. There's a possibility I might grow out of embarrassing teenage boys someday, but somehow I doubt it.
Labels: family, holidays, schenectady
