Saturday, my mother took me to get some of the necessary raiment for my mission, and we pulled into the parking lot and walked into the small store. We took the number 28 and looked around looking for items I would need, pointing to some.things in Espanol (which I will be speaking on my mission) and generally just waiting for our number to be called.
If you know what Beehive Clothing or a Church Distribution Center is, imagine this happening there. If you don't, pretend I didn't say anything.
Our number ended up being called and we walked up to the counter where the woman that was explaining to me all the different styles and fabrics and types of clothing I would need. At one point, she asked me my waist size. I responded with a confident "34" at which point my mother vocalizes her opinion on how big around my derrière is "32."
I told her how the underwear I wear is size 34. She continued to disagree.
In order to prove herself, she tells me to turn around.
I will never. EVER. EVEREVEREVER do that again.
As soon as I'm not looking, she starts yanking on the waistband of my pants and perusing her index finger around down in that region.
I (understandably) flipped out a little bit.
I was quite surprised, and as such I jumped. A lot.
Just to give you some perspective, I want to be in the medical field. I have little or no reservation talking about just about anything. I have had lengthy discussions about menstrual cycles, urination, menopause, tampons vs. maxi pads debate, pretty much everything you can imagine that boys hate. I'm also pretty dang hard to embarrass. I don't blush, I don't care, I don't mind.
Except of course when my maternal parent commences with the perusing of the upper buttocks. NOT acceptable. I know I don't like touching, but that doesn't usually embarrass me, just bug me.
My mom couldn't see what the big deal was as she triumphantly called out 32. (So I don't know my waist size. I'm a man. Sue me.) The lady at the counter looked even less phased than my mother, and I turned to my mother whispering harshly, "Does no one have any decency in this place?"
My mom retorted condescendingly with "No one even saw."
About thirty seconds of a complete blush accompanied by a sinister frown, the man next to us leans over and whispers, "Totally saw that."
Dear readers. Here's the question. Was this an invasion of privacy? Or was this simply motherly instinct to yank open the waistband of an adult male in public and peruse around inside?