Grab your crotch

My parents never used to take me shopping when I was little. I was a bit difficult and got easily frustrated when trying on clothes. I preferred to wear clothes that were A. big enough for a pregnant woman and B. really soft. So instead of enduring temper tantrums in the fitting room, my Dad would go to the big Sear's surplus store in downtown Seattle or the one in Burien and buy a bunch of clothes in my size. (Note that he didn't go the Sear's Department store. The surplus store was where the reject clothes went. This was the precursor to "outlet" stores.) Then he'd bring home a bunch of clothes and I'd try them on. He would take back the ones that didn't fit or were too itchy or whatever.

Looking back as an adult, I thought this was a bit over the top. I talked to my Mom about it and asked her what the deal was. She said it was worth it to avoid the stress of real shopping with me.

My brother, on the other hand, could handle the pressures of shopping in an actual store. So one day, he and my Mom were shopping for pants. (He was in 5th or 6th grade.) I wasn't there, but man, I wish I had been. He was trying on pants at Mervyn's and came out to show them to my Mom. My Mom asked (at full volume, according to my brother), "Do you have enough room in the CROTCH?"

I think the word "crotch" is probably still echoing in my brother's head to this day. It makes me laugh just thinking about it.

So when my boyfriend asked me to help him shop for jeans a few months ago, I remembered my brother's experience with my Mom. I was careful to whisper any questions in regard to how the jeans fit around his nether regions. After an afternoon of shopping, we were successful in purchasing a pair of jeans from Banana Republic that were not too tight, not too baggy, and that had enough room in the c-r-o-t-c-h.

Then we went home and I tried on the clothes that my Dad had gotten me at Sear's surplus store.