Those don't come in men's sizes...

...so Shanna and I were at Wally World this evening, having dumped the children and their bikes on my father's front doorstep, so that we might do some shopping for Max's birthday dinner on Friday. As is normally the case, we went there with specific needs, but managed to spend a good chunk of the paycheck on various unnecessary odds and ends.

Now, Dickinson is by no means a melting pot of cultural diversity. But tonight there was a good number of Hispanic chaps browsing the isles. But although to some of the yokels around here seeing a member of a different race would be the astonishing thing, to me what was most surprising was the necessity that a couple of the gentlemen were addressing...braziers.

As Shanna and I came around the end of the isle I like to call "The Carhart Corner", we were greeted by the sheepish peer of one Hispanic man who clearly was out of his element amongst the sports bras. And straight across from him was another Hispanic gentlemen who was thumbing through the hangers at his own pace. He was confounded and clearly frustrated by his predicament. For a fleeting moment, I felt the urge to step in and offer my assistance. After all, my wife was with me. But I know that feeling and the last thing a grown man wants at a time like that, is the advice of another grown man, despite his best intention.

You know they aren't buying them for themselves. I mean, first of all, they were big, burly lads who appeared to work on the rigs, and who did not appear to be those of the trans-gender persuasion. And second, even if they were into getting dolled up on women's lingerie, I would think they would opt for something a little slinkier than a one-piece, boob smashing sports bra. I mean, I don't frequent drag shows, but it's my experience that those who are not women, but intend to LOOK like them, often accentuate that "asset", not minimize it. And a sports bra isn't going to provide the "lift".

So they, like every other guy in that department, were sent there by a female. To make matters worse, they weren't even sent to get the "good" kind. No frilly lace or "Peekaboo". Nope, they had to go and get the unflattering "utility" bra. And just like every other guy in their situation (myself wholeheartedly included) they didn't have a freakin' clue what they were supposed to be looking for. I turned and looked back at them as I was leaving the section and they were still amongst the sporting apparel, looking at each other in a daze. And as I sauntered off, all I could think of was "poor bastards". Regardless of the racial and ethnic differences, there are some universal, shared occurrences. And a shamed, lost man amongst the women's delicates is one of them.