Accompanying her to La Senza seemed harmless enough. “Just be a supportive friend,” she said.
Oh yeah!
The moment I stepped in, I realized I had entered a different universe: a glittering cosmos of lace, silk, and garments so small I wondered if they were for fairies. I was the only man in sight, instantly a walking curiosity. Some women looked at me with amusement, others with mild apprehension. looks that said, “what is this creature doing here?”
Trying to be helpful, I hovered near the displays, moving back and forth like a nervous metronome. That’s when it happened: an employee leaned over and politely said, “Sir, could you step inside properly? The camera counts footfall, and you are confusing the counter by walking to and fro.”
I froze. My very existence was breaking corporate analytics.
I mumbled an apology and planted myself near a mannequin, pretending it was my ally. “Blend in,” I whispered to the lace.
Every time she picked something up, I tried to make a helpful comment. “Um… maybe that one?” She glanced at me like I had just suggested buying a gun. My knowledge of lingerie is limited to what I have seen in movies, and that clearly wasn’t enough. “Dev, do you even know what that is?” And no, I did not.
It could not have fitted a human body.( and this sentence is NOT meant to be a complaint).
Eventually, she made her selections. I paid for the privilege of existing there, and we left. Outside, I took a deep breath, vowing never to underestimate the intensity of the lingerie aisle again.
My ego, however, remains a little bruised. Apparently, being a man in La Senza is like being a cat at a dog show: tolerated, slightly ridiculous, and forever remembered by cameras.
(you may judge me by what I did; but I bet you like the photo I clicked)
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