Passing my lessons on to you

I'm not sure if any men read this blog. In fact, given the fact that maybe four people read it and that I know who those four people are, I'm going to go ahead and assume that no men read this. With that in mind, ladies, I implore of you to spread this message to the men in your life if they are in need.

I'd like us to all take a moment and consider the necessity of men to wear underwear with sweats. Not just to make you feel all snug and secure, no, you need to wear the underwear for more altruistic reasons. When you wear jeans and slacks, things are pretty much nestled in place for the duration, am I right? However, throw on a pair of comfy, flexible, elastic, stretchy sweats, pajama pants, etc, and things tend to bounce around. The scene from Juno where Paulie and the rest of the track team are shown running in slow motion comes to mind. Shiver. There is almost nothing worse than seeing the shape of a strangers penis flopping around in their pants, without first asking to see said floppage.

Yesterday I went to the craft store to find some "teach yourself how to crochet" stuff. The craft store is a pretty innocent place, you don't go there with the sense of danger that might accompany you to, say, that shopping center in Spring Lake, NC where there are guys that stand on the sidewalk waiting for you to drive by so they can stop you and harass you in your car. But yesterday I practically ran from the craft store because of a creepy sweat pants wearer. No, I didn't run just because of the sweats, because I realize that I am not exactly fashion-faux-pas-free. I ran because it was the closest I've ever come to feeling molested. Seriously.

I went to the knit/crochet section of the store and was looking at the How To books when this man with inappropriate underwear usage appeared in the same aisle as me. I immediately noticed the free-floating bulge that bounced as he stood there, and cringed as I turned back to the books. He made his way down the aisle to where I stood so I meandered down to look at hooks and needles at the other end of the aisle. There was, what looked like, some male scratching and grabbing going on, but it didn't seem to be overly done and I imagine with things getting flung every which way, you might get the occasional scratch that must be dealt with immediately, so I thought nothing (much) of it. Until he suddenly joined me back at the books and more than subtly scratched; it was more along the lines of "this is what I do in my lounge chair when I watch Vanna turn the letter tiles". I immediately went to a different aisle, looking back I'm not sure why I was so persistent in wanting to find a book or something. He showed up moments later and I fled. I got to my car, locked the doors, and sat there for a minute to see if he was coming out of the store (have I mentioned that I don't have a job and therefore read a lot of fiction and therefore was imagining scenes of car chases and losing him with my stealthy driving tricks and if that didn't work driving until I saw a cop), he wasn't so I left. Luckily, I found another craft store down the street and was able to finish perusing the books and yarn without any problems requiring either the fashion- or the Fayetteville police.

Lessons learned:
-The craft store is not as innocent a place as it is made out to be
-I'm fully prepared to drive like Jason Bourne if the situation calls for it
-Crocheting is a dangerous hobby