For the first time in years and years, I received a toy for Christmas. Now, I know that we're a week 'til Valentine's, and Christmas stories are so last year, but bear with me for a moment.
My new toy, it's tiny; rather about the size of a the rubber ball attached by a string to a wooden paddle. It's purple and round, and it hangs off the end of a keychain and it is innocent looking. If the girl in lace garters and fake fingernails on the packaging didn't scream that it was for getting off in dark corners and alleyways, maybe in the front seat of your car on your way to your boring accounting job - well, one would really have no idea what it was for. One would not, as it happens, know that if you twisted it a bit, the little bugger starts shaking and rumbling and - good Lord, vibrating - in one's hand.
I've never really had a desire for battery operated friends. I love me a dirty joke, and I've never been a fan of prudes, and God knows I firmly believe that getting off should be something everyone positively strives for. Nonetheless, while they're fascinating to look at, I could never bring myself to own one. Jokes, after all, have been made about not wanting anything in my body that says Made In China, unless it was a Chinese guy.
I'm not against other's owning the moving plastic bits - but is it really for me? After all, it all sounds rather messy, and high maintenance, and you know, I don't even like eating ribs because it's too messy an experience. Also, what if I got sick or into an accident? And someone had to go through my drawers, looking for changes of underwear to bring to the hospital where I lay ailing? Hmm?
So here it is, a month and a half after Christmas, a week until Valentine's Day, and the little purple ball of (alleged) joy sits untouched, unused, and frankly, taunting me.
Here's my problem: I've gone over 30 years without succumbing to plastic, but I know I also have an addictive personality. I don't respond well to limits. I can't have just one bit of chocolate and I don't like to share my desserts, and there is no such thing as only five minutes away from work to play Solitaire. I had no partner to dance with, but that didn't mean I could have stopped myself from sinking the value of a brand new car into learning how to float around a ballroom. When I'm hurt by someone, I don't say, "Stupid git" and get on with life. I instead build walls of grudges and take every slight as a personal sling and a scathing arrow. I was once taken to the track, and enjoyed it far more than I should have, and so have since stayed away. And did you ever notice how, when a slot machine jingles out it's coins, it sounds like it's saying "Mare-Ingenii is my friend! Mare-Ingenii is my friend!" I fell down and broke my leg and spent seven months in a cast!
I've never been a girl of moderation.
So. So. So, this is why the toy stays firmly put in the box in which it came. This is why I've only read the packaging once, for fear of becoming far too interested. Because, see, I already work at home. If I start with a little foreign matter, it's only a matter of days before I start cruising the internet for Japanese gizmos that send off electrical pulses, and giant orange shafts of texturized steel and rubber, with rotating bollocks and hydraulic lifts. It's only a matter of time before I start wearing jewellery that does more than decorate, and buying Duracell in bulk. It's only a matter of time before I start my day by lining up an inventory worthy of your average Anne Summers shop, oiling myself down and speed-dialling the 976 number for Jorge, the Chieftain of Love's verbal ministrations.
The blissed out look in my eyes would make Snoop Dog's organic practices look like child's play, and shoes would become a bother because of the endless toe curling. Meg Ryan-Tom Hanks movies would lose their charm, and I'd stop reading the classics so that I could make room on my shelves for bodice rippers and pink bit pages.
My life as I know it, hygienic and slightly boring, would come to a crashing stop, and all because of a gag Christmas gift that made the giver giggle and the receiver blush.
Oy. Now what do I do?
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