Von

I thought the email I sent her was HILARIOUS.

 

However, ol’ girl didn’t seem to share my sentiments:
“Obviously some one let you out of your play pen…I am not going to view your link and honestly not interested in conversing with you…So you know the rest…Peace”

 

Damn.

And just like that, my days of dating the young lady who inspired the Rodman Dating Theory were officially over.

 

This monumental fiasco began a few days ago.

I called the aforementioned young lady to confirm that she was coming over the next day (Sunday afternoon) for some home-cooked spaghetti.

During the course of our conversation, she began to tell me about her day.

About riding around all afternoon looking for a digital camera.
Picking up some awesome seafood.
The bad drivers on the road.
Buying some undergarments at Target.

About how—wait a minute…

*record scratches*

 

Did she just say she bought underwear—at Target?!

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that it really don’t matter where a young lady chooses to purchase her unmentionables. I have a hard time imagining that Target’s undergarment selection is any different than other major outlets.

Lace is lace. Cotton’s cotton.

Victoria’s Secret ain’t got a monopoly on bras and panties.

And I am by no means an underwear snob.

 

However, I saw this as a rare opportunity for me to clown.

You see, we’ve been programmed to believe that women only get their undies from lingerie stores.

When we think bras and panties—Vickie’s and Fredrick’s of Hollywood immediately come to mind.

And, uh, I ain’t thinkin’ about no women’s undergarments when I visit my local Target.

Plus, when dealing with a very attractive young lady (like the aforementioned one)—one who’s likely bombarded with compliments by every lame she passes on the street—it’s critical to occasionally give her a nice ribbing. Just to keep her ass grounded.

I saw my opportunity and pounced immediately.

Nothing obnoxious, just some subtle clowning: “Oh, you get your underwear from Target? Interesting…”

I chuckled. She laughed and told me that she gets them from Vickie’s and Frederick’s also. And the Target ones look just as good on her as the others.

And that if I got a chance to see them on her I’d never know the difference.

At that point, I could’ve transitioned to some light flirting (“Oh, I wouldn’t be able to tell if I saw the Target underwear on you? Prove it.”).

 

Instead I kept clowning.

We both laughed; I didn’t really get the sense that she was irritated. She did call me an asshole before we ended the convo— but I thought she was kidding.

 

The next day she texted me that the snowstorm would prevent her from coming across town for dinner.

I replied: “It’s cool. We can do it some other time. Have fun in your Target underwear.”

She replied with an “LOL.”

Everything was still cool. Or at least I thought so.

 

The next morning I took the joke even further. I searched Target’s website for the most hideous panties I could find. I sent her the link in an email with the subject line: I found your Target underwear online.

 

I checked my mail a few hours later, thinking she’d get a good laugh out of it. Because I thought it was hilarious.

Apparently I was mistaken.