It isn’t often that I get my backside inspected, but sometimes the moment just feels right and it gets an airing for public appraisal. Okay, so this isn’t really what happened, but I did end up showing my boxers to the lovely girl in the Levi’s shop while we tried to work out the colour of the 501’s I was wearing. Naturally, she had to read the label, which Levi’s sew in halfway down the seam…
I was on a mission; to get an identical pair of 501s to one’s I was wearing. It wasn’t a hard task, I imagined, and headed to the Levi’s shop in my local shopping mall. Initially, I couldn’t find the particular style of denim I wanted – they’re normally on proud display. I wandered over to the counter and made eye contact with a hawt-diggidy-dang fine young lady. She explained that the 501’s were behind the counter and a few specimens were bedraggled over the counter for customer perusal.
Knowing exactly what I wanted, including waist size and leg length, I asked for a matching pair to the one’s currently hiding my lower body. She pondered momentarily, touching her chin with a fore-finger before saying “They’re too faded for me judge properly”.
The blonde, tanned assistant then started to pull a pair of jeans about and showed me that inside, halfway down the top part of the jeans was a label. Aside from washing instructions, there were a few numbers sewn in. The first part was the style code – in this case, 501 – and the second set of numbers was the colour code. She gestured towards the changing rooms and said she would wait for me to return.
I wandered over, feeling slightly intimidated by the hoards of squeeking girls playfully giggling at each other as they looked at one another’s potential purchases in the mirrors. I assessed the changing room situation and was forced to return to the counter; there were no available rooms.
“Come on then, let’s have a look” came the levelled response.
Carefully, I peeled down my jeans a little and she groped around trying get a grip on the label. After a little pulling from her and careful attempts from me to hide the laughter that was brewing from the slight tickling, she exclaimed, “Zero, zero, three, nine…”
“…Nice trunks, by the way, they fit your bum well.”
Looking a little sheepish, I managed a small smile while she turned to survey the wall of blue denim that provided the backdrop to her slim figure. As I looked around
to admire her posterior to see if anyone had witnessed the short striptease, the bright-eyed girl tossed a pair onto the counter and checked to see if I did want the same size as the pair I had just buttoned back up.
As they were carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a bag, I offered a small wink and complimented her customer service. A smile was thrown my way and I left feeling a little surreal at the experience, happy that I had my jeans, and annoyed that I didn’t ask for her number.