Intimitation

I can stand at the outfield fence for ages to watch a baseball game, even a game between two teams about which I care little, and I don't get tired and I don't care who sees me there. But park me in an aisle among the intimate apparel while my copilot is on the hunt for garments that a) match a human body and b) match this human's wallet, and my back gives out immediately and I become super-conscious of the staff keeping an eye on me. I spend so much energy not making eye contact, even with the mannequins, that I am exhausted in no time.

I lean up against a rack--this store has no "guy chairs" in the intimate apparel section--and then realize the rack is full of pastelegant bras begging me to "fold me, bend me, let me support you in comfort." As this does not seem to be an appeal to which I should respond, even to be polite, I step smartly away. But everywhere I move I seem to be invading the space of a female person who is evaluating some tiny, filmy bit of black fabric adorned with a pink ribbon. Finally I retreat and lurk at telescope distance, among the shoes, until the moment to escape via the cashier arrives.

This is a good thing. I need to be put off my stride at regular intervals, to be a little uncomfortable and to be reminded how I may make others uncomfortable. It helps me remember to try to comport myself a little more humbly.

I should also note that, for being the driver and the credit-card carrier on this little outing, I got nice snacks from the healthy-groceries store. Worth a bit of intimidation...