It all started with a simple shopping spree. I had decided to surprise my wife with a new purchase of special clothing essentials from every man's dreamiest of feminine wardrobe stores.

Yes, it was Victoria's Secret.

After spending a few hours there, I mean, a few minutes, something became very apparent to me. It was very obvious to anyone with a trained eye and gift of observance. It became very apparent that I was only man in a store mainly comprised of women who was shopping alone.

At that moment, I could sense it. Obviously, I was Ted Bundy, Osama Bin Ladin and Sadam Hussein, all rolled into one.

Now, I'm being humorous, but every man who has embarked upon a shopping mission such as this can empathize with me.

Should I get cotton? Should I get satin? Should I get silk? What about lace? Of course, you have to touch cloth and check size to find just right purchase, which causes even more feelings of suspicion as you lift each garment from table it is displayed on. "I sure hope they don't think I'm some kind of pervert", I remember thinking.

After several, seemingly unapproachable moments, a young lady decided she would close chasm that existed between us and, sheepishly I might add, ask if I needed some help. In this store where every piece of clothing is practically of an intimate nature, she assisted me in finding sizes I needed.

Through all my humorous discomfort something began to dawn on me. While I didn't go in on a mission of finding out what Victoria's Secret "secret" is, I think this experience may have disclosed it.

Stay with me a few minutes and I will share with you what I think.

It is something that seems to have been misplaced in our desensitized sexually liberated culture.

THE SECRET

Let's say that someone walks up to you and hands you keys to two different cars. One of those cars is an old Subaru Justy and other a brand new Ferrari. Do you think you might handle Ferrari a little different than you would Justy?

Of course you would, we all would.