While looking for posts from 2103, I came across this one that reminded of the blog I posted with this photo on May 6, 2013 — the verbiage that went with it is reposted below:
The only aisle that is a straight shot from household goods to groceries in Walmart runs right through the bras. For as much as people complain about Walmart, they are good at merchandising, because I have never seen a woman walk past the bras on her way to household or groceries and not stop and at least flip through the large variety of brightly colored, multi-patterned bras hanging on the displays. If she decides to try on a few, and she happens to have a man in tow, he will slowly die of hunger and thirst waiting for his lovely gal to find a bra that fits just right.
Since I was done with the grocery shopping and there was nothing else I needed or wanted to look for, I sat on the wire bench outside the fitting rooms while I waited for Laurie. While fidgeting around trying to get comfortable, I started thinking about how suicide bombers believe they get 72 virgins after they blow themselves to hell. “Hmmm!” I thought to myself, what if they actually got condemned to shopping for bras with their 72 virgins for eternity? Now that would be hell! Think about it, sitting on an uncomfortable bench watching his 72 virgins all lined up to get into the fitting room, each with a half a dozen bras in their hands. One by one they would come out and explain to him in detail why each bra didn’t fit quite right — “The cups fit on this one, but the straps dug into the fat! This one bloops out unless I stand up really straight and stick my chest out… this one’s underwires poked me, and this one…” And she’s off to grab another handful of bras to try on. While he’s waiting for his next virgin to give him the run down on the inadequacies of the load of bras she hauled into the fitting room, he has the rather round and tired old lady who’s at the end of her shift that never comes to keep him company. She’s nice enough, but he’s not enjoying fantasizing about what she would look like in her underwear. Another virgin interrupts his fantasy to describe her delicate dilemmas with the colorful display of cups and straps she’s dangling in his face — “This one doesn’t….”