The Side Effects of Recovery
On the Canadian’s day off from the tattoo shop we often head out for a Date Night of sorts. Last night, after rumbling about Uptown for a while, I noticed that the Smitten Kitten was still open and after a couple minutes of begging, managed to get the boy in there. (Not familiar with the Kitten? Then you’re in for a treat! It is my most favorite sex shop in the Twin Cities. ‘Cause nothin’ says lovin’ like a new toy.)
Wandering about the store, checking out the merch, I can tell that the boy’s skin is about to crawl off his bones but he bravely sticks it out. As we’re heading for the door, I stop at the display of glass sex toys, and start to tell Jeff how uneasy the idea of a glass dildo makes me. As I reach up to look at a stainless steel piece that caught my eye, I inadvertently bump another toy which sets off a chain reaction of bumping, rolling, and tumbling merchandise that would make Charlie Chaplin proud. When I hear a glass toy hit the floor and shatter, not only am I 100% convinced that glass toys are probably one of the worst things ever designed for my va-jay-jay, but I am filled with dread when Jeff reads the price tag: $76.
I slink over to the register and pull out my credit card as the super-nice staff at the Kitten sweep up the shards of sex toy. (Doesn’t that seem wrong!??! No toy should ever have shards!) The Canadian is kind of smirking, but gallantly offers to pay for half of the toy. I, meanwhile, am not only embarrassed but super-pissed off that I’m about to flush $76 down the toilet. And there isn’t even any cool, half-used merchandise to keep! If I had broken a vibrator and left it with only 3 out of 5 of its settings, I would be happy to pay for it and take it home. Alas….the glass dildo was turning out to be a waste in several ways.
Against all logical sense, I start to tear up. The Canadian looked startled and quickly tried to assure me that this is not a big deal. It’s okay. I am not convinced, and the tearing turns in to a kind of welling up of tears and I can tell there’s going to be a spillage. This is even more embarrassing than breaking the toy. I headed over to the lube display and grabbed a paper towel from the try-it-out area. I was absolutely appalled at how emotional I was. Emotional! My brain: “I work so hard in therapy so I can enjoy moments like this?!? If this is what it means to experience emotions, then pass the fucking Oreos!” It all seemed so ridiculous at the time.
Back at the register, the clerk is clearly in the Land of Uncomfortable Silences. She just stares at me. While I cry. Over a DILDO. The Canadian is unphased - he’s already seen this freaky sideshow many times. Instead, he starts working on the clerk to put her at ease: “It’s okay. She’s just a bit emotional this evening. She’ll be fine.”
Then one of the Smitten Kitten co-founders walked over and defused the situation: “Ohmigosh! You’re not paying for THAT! Do you know how many $300 toys I’ve broken in this place? Don’t get me started…”
Posted: July 24th, 2008 under BEDhead, Canadia-Land, Schnibbles.
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