Was telling someone the other day about when my sister worked at the Wrangler Ranch at the Exton Mall. I was in 9th grade and I had to go in to get a pair of jeans.
Her manager was a woman of about 50 named Cookie. She was one of these loud talking, super confident, drill seargent type women. But she was nice. She was just Cookie.
So I go in the store, she's standing there wearing all demin - Wrangler brand of course - and looking like she was ready to go to The Brickette. The Brickette is a local country music bar. And oh yeah. She had that really high hair. It always looked like she just came from the beauty parlour. That's what they used to call it back in those days.
I'm looking at jeans and:
Cookie: Looks like you need to be measured first Mister. Do you mind?
Me: Oh OK.
(She takes the tape measure and wraps it around my waist and measures. Then she gets on her knees so she can do the length)
Cookie: Are you OK with me touching your inseam to get a proper measurement?
(I had no idea what an inseam was)
Me: My what?
Cookie: Your inseam. You know..your crotch region.
Me: Uh....I guess.
Cookie: OK. And the reason I ask Jimmy is because you're a young man. And young men are very excitable? Do you know what I mean here? And even the slightest brush from a woman's hand - or even a tape measure can cause a raging boner. Do you know what a boner is Jimmy? Was that covered in your health class yet?
Me: Uh. Yeah.
Cookie: OK good. Because first thing it's a boner and the next thing you're spewing jizz all over my store. Not on my watch Jimmy. Not on my watch!
OK the last part I made up but she did ask me if she could touch my inseam. So there's that.