Attention Shoppers: We Have An Obscenity In Aisle 9

Holy mother of pearl do I have a whopper of a story for you. It can best be summed up in 4 words: pants on the ground.

What I am about to describe to you would provide General Larry Platt with new inspiration for his song.

On Friday I got up bright and early and dragged the Chef to a private clothing event. I'm sure you've figured out by now that this is part of my job - although luckily I had taken the rest of Friday off so we could have a leisurely afternoon. Suuuuure. Because that always goes as planned.

At the first place we got invited to another thing (thing being the operative word here) held in some warehouse in the middle of nowhere. We didn't know much about it, but it sounded okay so accepted and went along. Does the above picture look like fun to you? Maybe. Does it sound like fun if you add to it dim lighting, a minimum of 500 people - and I highly suspect many more (can you say job abandonment?), much narrower aisles, zero fitting rooms and 3 mirrors in total? Not so much.

Now try adding 497 women dropping their pants in the aisles to this equation and see what kind of images that evokes. Are ya blind yet? Because I'm still scared to open my eyes and he hasn't uttered a word in the 5 days since (think state of shock).

In hindsight we should have turned and sped off at the first sign of a bazillion cars in the parking lot, but curiosity took over.

And when security said "No Bags" as we were walking in, perhaps we should have taken it as sign number 2 and turned and ran instead of splitting up as he returned my bag to the car - where he should have remained and called 911.

Because when I walked in the door and almost got trampled to death by half naked women and clothing flying everywhere it was too late. I got swept into the crowd like a ragdoll out to sea and that was the end of it.

image via te quiero
(i have a feeling this person was in attendance)

By the time the Chef finally made it into the building he was completely mortified (I owe him so big for this I don't think I can ever recover. We're talking relationship recession in a HUGE WAY girls). Being the sport he is he was like, "now that we're in here let's see what's going on." Famous last words.

Apparently this is "No Manners Week" here in America. At one point I looked up and it was a sea of women without any pants on. The poor Chef was looking up at the CEILING because everywhere you looked it was bare bottom after bare bottom. We are talking g-strings for days. Humility is dead.

After what seemed like hours of mayhem we emerged torn up, bruised and battered, but with our pants on. Thank God. 2 more words: NEVER AGAIN.

Here's one of the rewards of battle: Studded denim vest.