What Size Was That, Sir?

My friend was in the dressing room of a department store trying to find a bathing suit for the summer. She’d been there a while and things were looking bleak when she heard a woman giggle from another stall. My friend gave her bonus points for managing to retain her sense of humor. “I don’t feel much like chuckling,” she thought to herself as she grabbed the suits and headed back out to exchange them for some more possibilities. That’s a shame, too. It’s been my experience that this is one time when a girl could really use a good laugh. Moments later, my friend got exactly that.

She was picking up some more suits from that little holding area at the checkout, when she overheard a conversation between the clerk and a well-dressed man. There are some items that a man shouldn’t try to purchase, a bathing suit topping the list. Before her stood a fellow bravely going where stronger men are scared to tread. He was surprising his wife at her office with a weekend get-a-way; all the details were a secret, but she needed to have a bathing suit with her and he was prepared to pack her one himself.

“What style were you thinking of?” asked the clerk.

The man looked blank. “Excuse me?”

“Style,” the clerk said, “Bikini, one piece, tankini?”

“Heck, I don’t know,” was all the man could offer.

The clerk smiled. “We’ll get back to that,” she said, kindly. “What about size?”

The man frowned. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you.”

“I see,” the girl said patiently, “that’s going to be more of a problem, but maybe we can figure it out. Do you know your wife’s measurements?”

The man thought for a moment and then his face lit up. “Not really, he said, “but I know it’s small, medium and large in that order.”

Bless his heart, he meant well.

Hugs, Shellie