In which I jeapordize my engagement, part II.

"Well, these are nice," The Fiance said, holding up a thong, as we sifted through a bin of panties on sale at Kohl's.

"Eh, well." I scrunched up my nose. I'm very particular about my selection of underwear. They can't be too tight, or they'll pinch the "excess skin" (ahem, FAT) on my hips. But I did appreciate his efforts.

I began to fancy a pair of blue ones, equipped with a bow, while he continued to take the task rather seriously.

Beginning to realize my options for suitable undergarments were limited, I haphazardly began rummaging through the piles, pulling out an intricately-designed, hot pink thong. Interesting, I thought. But not before grasping it with both hands, sneaking behind The Fiance and wrapping it over his head, much like the way a kidnapper might catch his prey - if kidnappers were to, indeed, catch their prey with colorful under things.

He stood, stunned. I stunned him. And there he stood, underwear in hand AND on head. He quickly grappled with the thong, and whipped it off his face, before running willy-nilly out of the women's department toward Man Safety.

He glanced back, as I giggled like a school girl and chased him to the men's department.

"Don't you dare blog about this. I swear, if you blog about this... "

Ah. I love him.