I love this store.

I love their underwear.  I love their push up bras.  In addition this is the only store where I can find a bra that makes me two cup sizes bigger, I can reapply my makeup and lather on the sparkling sugared pear cream, spray glitter and perfume and come out feeling:  Sexy.

Where was this store when I was in my 20s and actually had that killer body?   Why did it take this long to get this kind of underwear to the masses?  Their marketing is genius.  It’s fun, flirty and classy. We see half naked women displayed in the mall and no one is covering up any eyes.  When you walk out of that store you want to be holding that pink and red striped bag out for the whole man world to see.

Daring the men to ponder….hmmm….wonder what is in that bag?

Ok you ogling me walking out.  I just got the bombshell bra and now I have cleavage.

I got the boob job without the job.

Ok, so my secret is out.  I am not well endowed.  But when I wear that bra I get looks I  never ever got before.

Men look at me different.   (Ok I am asking myself, “Am I actually bay watch or in my moment of insecurity are they only pondering:  A.  True  or  B. False?”)

Regardless, I determine, it is the power of the boobies.  I now know what the babe watch babes experience.  I am bullet (err) padded proof.

I tell you you can’t be in that store without wanting it all.  The whole sexy black and red package.  You get the garter, a corset, the lace underwear and really sexy slip.  They look sexy.  They feel sexy.  You just keep saying that sexy word.  Sexy, Sexy, Sexy.

This store knows how to use words like hot, flirty, naughty, lace, push up and panty.  Even colors in this store sound better than crayons: satin peach, rustic red, cobalt black, passion pink, emerald isle green.

Just so you know redheads look good in black and green.

Ok I got flaws but when I put on some lace with clips and high heels I am Hollywood.  I am not that woman in yoga pants running kids to soccer practice with snot all over my tee shirt.  I am not that tired analytical creature in the courtroom plain and grey.

I am a sexy super hero.   I am, for a moment, playboy.

When I do the hair and mix it with the deep dark deep make up, the sexy dress, boots and that lace underwear I am a Nicole Kidman or a Diane Lane.  No longer plain and simple.  I am that other woman.  I actually get stares.  I get phone numbers.  I get men pulling up to my window on the expressway giving me a thumbs up.

I really am not making this up.   You even can ask Amy.

It’s true.  It’s the power of sexy underwear.

A toxic voo doo, hex or man spell even if I am showing it off  for only the cat.