Thank God for Mail Order
Written by Guest Blogger Thom Agliata
Just after our first child was born in the spring of 1990, my wife and I settled into the routine of being new parents. We both worked full-time, and between food shopping, housework, and everything else it takes for a young family to get by, life was busy.
We always looked forward to summer because my parents lived at the Jersey Shore. We spent most weekends there on the beach. Many of our relatives either lived there year-round or owned summer homes nearby.
Summer turned into fall, and before long we settled into another long New Jersey winter. Then the holidays arrived, bringing all the excitement and joy that comes with celebrating a newborn’s first Christmas.
But winter dragged on. By the end of January, with Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I decided I wanted to surprise my wife with a special weekend away.
A local Marriott offered a package that included a room and breakfast in bed.
I booked it immediately.
I also made reservations at our favorite restaurant, La Cocina. All that remained was finding the perfect gift.
I have to admit, I am a terrible gift giver. But I remembered hearing my wife say she wanted a pair of pajamas that didn’t make her look like she was wearing a flannel sack.
As luck would have it, there was a privately owned lingerie shop not far from where we lived. One day after work, I decided to stop in and see if I could find something warm, comfortable, and maybe a little sexy.
Nothing skimpy or lacy, just something nice.
Pulling into the parking lot, I have to admit I was nervous. I had seen Victoria’s Secret stores, their catalogs, and their fashion shows. I knew exactly what kind of merchandise I might encounter.
Still, I was an adult. I gathered my courage and marched inside.
Of course, the first things I saw on display were skimpy G-strings, lace teddies, and see-through garments right at the front of the store.
I made sure to walk right past them.
There were only a couple of customers browsing. The owner, a woman behind the counter, looked up and said, “I’ll be right with you.”
After making a few awkward laps around the displays, trying not to stare at anything in particular, she came over and asked, “How can I help you?”
Fortunately, I had rehearsed my answer.
“I’m looking for a pair of pajamas for my wife,” I said.
“Do you know what size she is?” she asked.
I hadn’t anticipated that question.
After a brief moment of panic, I regrouped and said, “She’s about your size.”
The owner was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, about five feet tall and maybe 115 pounds.
She smiled and said, “Right this way. The pajamas are on the other side of the store.”
And that’s where things got a little foggy.
As we walked toward the pajama section, she casually asked, “Do you want crotchless?”
I felt all the blood drain from my head.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
Before I could think, I blurted out a response that has echoed in my mind ever since.
“No...give me the crotch.”
I’m sure she’d heard it all before, but I was completely mortified.
She turned, smiled, and said, “I know exactly what you want.”
A few minutes later, she handed me a beautiful pair of satin pajamas decorated with red and pink hearts.
I don’t remember how much they cost.
At that moment, I would have paid anything just to get out of that store.
Unfortunately, Valentine’s Day weekend brought a blizzard, and we ended up not going to the Marriott.
We canceled our reservation at La Cocina.
We got takeout Chinese food.
I gave her the gift.
It wasn’t until years later that I told her the whole story.
Guest Blogger Thom Agliata
