A nice bit of rump

'May I try?'

Humming to myself and lost in thoughts of that glass of white or red, l about turned from the pile-of-three, perfectly presented, cuddle soft cashmere v necks, to find myself gazing at a hunk of male manliness.

Now. I work in menswear. If required l dress them. From head to toe sometimes. Seen their pecks an' bottoms, thighs an' toes. Pick out shirts, jeans, jackets, pants, too. So l'm used to male bodies. It's my job. I see and accept that we all come in different shapes and sizes. But this man, he knocked me for six.

'Of course. Fitting room's this way, please', ushering the tall, broad shouldered customer into the changing room. I leaned against it for a few seconds to compose myself.

Jeez. Look at those beautiful teeth. Perfect mouth.

I'd completely forgotten to check what he was trying on!

'Sankyou'.

I'm not very good with placing someone, where their from. I knew he was modest though. Some folk don't realise just how damned good looking they are. What big eyes you have, Grandma. Those lashes don't belong on a boy.

A couple of minutes later, and the door opened. I jumped out of my daydream, fiddling with papers at the till, pretending l hadn't been waiting to see what he'd choosen to try on. He'd look superb in a string vest.

'My Eengleesh veree, emmm, no good', he drawled in a deep, velvety voice.

'I fit? You, mmmm, it like?'

'It's a great colour for you. Turn round?' Nice ass, great legs. Bloody hell. Thankfully he can't read my mind!

My face was turning pink. What the heck was happening here?

He had a Ralph Lauren really fine, slim fit denim shirt on. When we'd unpacked it, my colleague and l had our doubts. No Scotsman would go down the boozer in THAT. Now l had the perfect model in front of me. In the flesh, so to speak. If only.

'I fat. Look. Big this, yes?', he patted his stomach, and l laughed along with him. Two younger men joined him in the discussion. Occasionally blokes do pass comment on their mate's choice. Just for a minute, then they loose patience and wander off. As in this case, one on his phone, the other looking at piles of jeans.

Now l felt vulnerable, they'd see me all giggling, ridiculous. I must pull myself together. Stop the intruding thoughts. I'll certainly try.

'Noooo. Not fat. But stand up. Tall. See?'

I learned from a dancer, a ballet dancer, that if you pull yourself up, you can take half a stone off. It's more a posture thing. Stand up straight, shoulders back, tummy in.

He pulled his stomach in, and the shirt fitted perfectly. His friends had joined in, and stuck their heads around the door. They were glancing between us, and l prayed l didn't look too obviously smitten. Silly woman. Perks of the job, though.

I left them to chatter in whatever language it was, then the boys wandered off, chatting to the younger women in the department. Fella was trying on a cheaper brand, same denim look thing.

'No. Nasty, yes?'

'Where are you from', l asked. 'Argentina? Well, you know a can of corned beef? And you know a sirloin steak?'

'Yes yes. I know. What you say, huh?', he wondered, looking at the cheaper shirt. It was all baggy and too short in the sleeves. The collar didn't fit his neck. Horrible, even on him.

'This', l pointed at cheap shirt, 'is corned beef, and that one', l picked up the Ralph shirt, 'is sirloin. So. Definitely this'.

'Ah, yes. My food. I love. Make me veree fat. Ha ha. I buy sirloin. You, mmmm, you good .. '

'Choice?'

'Choice? Yes. Good choice. Sank you'.

Look at that gorgeous face. I love a man in a wee reefer coat. Those ripped, scruffy jeans, big buckled belt, Chelsea boots. A bit Beckham, but not so perfect. David B probably has a stylist somewhere.

'I must not eat. I love food. You love food? Food is like making love. Important, yes?'

Oh boy. Don't look up.

'That's one hundred and twenty five pounds, please'

Sex. You're talking to the very wrong person, says l to myself, trying not to turn bright purple.

'I don't make either. Food or love', laughing and counting out his change.

'I go. Back to my home. But l would have made for you some .. '

'FOOD', l shouted laughing.

'Maybe, no. Not the food. You are kind, funny, pretty. Good bye'.

I can honestly say if there was an equivalent to a shop 'mile high' club.

Oh well. Ce la vie ..