At a time when I was at a heavier weight than now, clothes shopping was not always a successful event, unless I crossed that imaginary line into the ‘big girls’ department. So it was with great delight that I found a pair of size 16 jeans that fitted perfectly, at a popular chain store no less! After wearing the ‘perfect jeans’ out on numerous occasions, (and discovering their power to increase self-esteem) I hurried back to the same shop to find other size 16 jeans that would fill me with such hope and confidence.
Humming to myself I grabbed all size 16 jeans in the shop and headed to the change rooms. The first three were not quite as mentally fulfilling (maybe as they were too physically fulfilling) but the fourth pair had promise! As I slid into the slinky denim, a flurry of movement caught my eye. Unperturbed, I pulled on the jeans and knew at once, that these were a winning pair. It was then I noticed a dark, guilty-looking object on the floor. A pair of underpants. My first response was to shove my hands down the front of the jeans to check if I was wearing my own knickers. I was (for a moment I did think I had somehow taken off my underpants without realising), so whose were the large, black pair on the ground?
With horror, I realised that the underpants on the floor belonged to someone else who had somehow taken them off and left them in the crotch of the jeans when they tried them on, then hung them back out on the rack – panties in tow! What kind of person forgets their underpants? So that was what had caught my eye when I pulled on the jeans, the knickers falling out of the crotch. Imagine if I had put my legs through them and the jeans! “Hmm, these are a bit tight in the crotch…”
So after my initial horror, I am now faced with a new dilemma. What to do with the aforementioned ‘panties’? I consider kicking them under the next change room, but that person could just kick them back, or worse; report me to the shop’s staff. Maybe I should just leave them there and walk out confidently, but what if the next person in line spots them and calls out loudly; ‘excuse me, you forgot your undies!’
I decide the best thing to do is put them back into the jeans (James Bond style – using the leg of the pants as a glove) and take them out to alert the shop’s staff. Understandably, they were just as horrified as me, and apologised profusely. I paid for my new jeans, (without even the mention of the word ‘discount’) and left the shop, surreptitiously eying shoppers that I passed, wondering if they were the girl with the unhygienic, jean-buying habits.