September Contest: Elisabeth Peterson

“Are you sure you have enough underwear, dear?” Mom asked, loud enough that the entire intimates department probably heard.  I glanced around quickly, and although I couldn’t see anyone, I ducked my head with embarrassment.

“What?” Mom asked, the pitch of her voice escalating at the end of the word, her stance defensive to the glare I shot her as she held up a pair of very, very skimpy thongs. And, she held them up very high, up in front of her head. Perhaps she though the clerk at the far end of the aisle, who now looked in our direction, needed a better view of the panties.

“Mom,” I groaned. “We are going to be in the Bahamas, and that means I’ll be in a swimsuit 90 percent of the time. Plus,” I lifted up a different pair much, much lower, by my midsection. “I prefer bikini cuts,” I nearly whispered. Of course, Mom didn’t notice my hint for her to tone it down and continued on in the same loud voice.

“BIKINIS! You’re right, dear, you need a bikini! That’s what we’ll look at next!” She snatched the underwear out of my hands and threw them into the cart.


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