Friday, December 11, 2009

Toy parties.

We've all been invited to the "Sex-Up-Your-Marriage" parties. It's a bunch of women giggling and passing around various bedroom toys, acting like they're in 7th grade. Okay I admit it, I was probably the only one taking pictures on my phone and sending it out to friends with messages like, "Merry Christmas you Ho, Ho, Ho!"

The poor host had her own personal heckler (me) and barely got through her script on how to keep our marriages spicy and alive. I was embarrassed and anxious, which meant my mouth was running without brakes. I kept singing, "That's what she said" to cap off almost sentence spoken from the host. It was like adding punctuation to her vocabulary. Like a period to sentence. Like a knife to a tomato.

I left with a brown lunch bag filled with shit I don't need, but felt compelled to buy since I treated the host so rudely.

As I dumped out the contents at my husband's feet, I realized everything looked a little different in my own home. The Coochie Cream looked a little out of place next to my Aveda shampoo and the sex toy I bought looked ridiculous. My husband pointed to it and asked, "What the hell is that thing? I answered honestly. "I have no idea, I was too busy heckling the host." It was basically a squishy pink coat for a penis.

Needless to say, that toy was never used. By us. However, it was used by our daughter Paige. About a year later I was cleaning up her room and weeding out old toys in her closet when I noticed the sex toy on her Barbie fashioned as a strapless dress. Bright pink in all its glory. On a fucking Barbie.

Now, the fact that a year had gone by makes me wonder if she brought this Barbie to playdates, softball games, school, or perhaps allowed other friends to dress their Barbies in the magnificent pink strapless dress.

The lesson learned is this: If you can't handle the spice, don't try it. It will come back to haunt you.

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