A pasty faced man wearing a beige trench coat walked into the shop just before closing and said, “Yeah, hi, I want to buy some of the edible underwear you have in the window.  It’s for my wife for Valentine’s Day.”

We sold a fair amount of these novelties, basically fruit leathers made of sugar and pectin cut into the shape of a triangle bra and bikini panty.  As far as I could tell, both the men’s and women’s bottoms looked identical, even though the photo on the blue box had a clear differentiation. We sold between 30 and 50 pair of edibles on Cupid’s day, along with dozens of fishnet stockings and black garter belts, and another fave, crotchless panties.

“Sure. Which flavor? Cherry, or chocolate cherry?” I asked.

“Gimme cherry.”  He paid me eight dollars in cash and put the square box into an inside pocket of his coat, and whistled his way out the door.  

The next day, again right before closing, the pasty faced man returned.  He stood before me and reached into the trench coat pocket and tossed the same box of panties he’d bought yesterday onto the counter.  The plastic wrapping had been torn off, and the box had been opened.

“I want a refund,” he said gruffly.

“I’m sorry sir, that item is final sale. I can’t give you a refund.”

“The damn thing is no good,” he said.

“What seems to be the trouble?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

“They melted. My wife wore them to work and they melted.”