Victorious Secret

I got my first job at Victoria's Secret. Yes...retail glory. Of course I was enthralled. I didn't have any experience. Because of this every where I went turned me away but even so Victoria's Secret hired me! I felt invincible. Invincible and justified in measuring women for their right bra size, helping men pick out lingerie to spice up their pathetic sex lives, and signing up an unwilling customer for a Victoria's Secret Angel card like nobody's business.

I was little Miss Victoria.

It was funny how much I learned about the differences between men and women. Women would always spend hours looking for the right outfit to buy for their boyfriends or husbands. Everything had to be perfect; breasts had to be neatly tucked in yet at the same time popping out, if any cellulite showed they'd get their lingerie tailored to hide it, and rolling guts had to be easily sucked in and concealed.

But men on the other hand didn't care. They'd come back to the fitting rooms and see their girlfriends in what they thought was the holiest of visions. With their eyes widened and looking upon a glorious view of Venus being borne out of a lace-trimmed, body-hugging, red lace camisole. The entire time Venus would be cringing at the thought of her ass-dimples showing.

Ladies, much to our misfortune, men do not want us to be perfect. They just want us to be accessible to them, to like them, and to be aroused for them. In all of our flab and cellulite glory, to be standing in front of them with that look in our eye and that beer in our hand.

This realization can be very dismaying to many women. "Then, who are gonna primp ourselves for? Who are we gonna get Brazilian waxes for, hair bleached, and eyebrows done for?" For each other of course. All of that has never been for other men. Men up until now have just been the excuse for us women to be girls.

We're all much more wanted when we're sitting around in pajamas with no make-up on and watching the Food Network. The true Venus, in her idyllic heavenly abode.