Warning!! To my Mom and Mother-in-Law. We are entering sensitive territory! Do not proceed! Everyone else, I would like to tell you the story of my first visit to a sex shop.
We need to go back a bit. I am at a birthday dinner and the subject of vibrators comes up. I divulge that I don’t own one, never have. “YOU don’t have vibrator? You’re kidding!” I was Sandy all over again (My Search For Summer Danny) and Rizzo is telling me that I am a prudish loser. One other girl confessed the same thing and it was like we were now at the uncool table in the cafeteria. The way these girls were talking, I don’t know how they have time to go grocery shopping. They are busy!!
Now I pride myself on trying to be “the cool girl”, but I think I come from the school of keep your toys to your self. I don’t need to know that you use a vibrator regularly or that you wear crotchless underwear on date night. No judgments, I just don’t need visuals. Sure, I have gone to the mandatory suburban sex toy sales party. I suppose this replaces our mother’s tupperware parties. Personally, I find much more need for containers to store my fresh cut fruit, but to each his own.
Fast forward to a Friday night out with some girls, and after a few cocktails, we start the “good girl talk”. “Let’s go to Pleasure Emporium,” one of my friends suggests. She apparently keeps a bag of toys by her bed. “Okay” I say, I’ll show those vibrator toting Rizzos. I hear my mom’s voice in the background. “Enjoy every experience. Just make sure you have your rouge and lipstick on.”
So, armed with a good attitude and my Lancome gloss, we go. Three Jewish drunk girls go to the sex shop. I smell sticom deal. In the shop, it is us, two sales clerks, and a man I am convinced has a girl locked up in a closet at his house. “I can do this.” I say to myself. Just make this environment like one you are used to. “Okay, this is just like Bloomingdales,” I convince myself. My friend with the sex bag is my personal shopper, and there are different departments. There is the clothing department, which includes the sexy french maid costume, or the slutty girl scout. There is a movie section, where the covers show me things I have never seen before or knew were possbile. There are products on the walls. You have vibrators, different color dildos. My personal shopper directs me to the best items. I am drawn to the glass cases. “Ooh, what are those?” “Are these like the Fendi bags of vibrators?” I mean, if they are in cases, they are better, right?
Now because I like to shop, I decide I have to buy something. I decide on something called the Bullet, and something called the Rabbit. I am dying as I approach the counter. My friend sees the price tag on the Rabbit. $150.00!!! “What?” I scream. “I’d rather buy a few shirts at the real Bloomingdales!” So I hand my Bullet to the sales clerk for purchase. She rings me up with her free hand, as the other one is deep in a bag of Lays potato chips.
Now here is the best part!!! They have to take my Bullet out of the packaging, and test it to make sure it works. So the first person to touch my first vibrator is the greasy hand Lays potato chip girl. She calls me over to check that it works. I am so mortified!! We pay, we leave, we giggle.
And this ladies, is where our story will end. A lady doesn’t kiss and tell. I will tell you this. I view my new vibrator like my recently purchased neon pink shirt. I look at them in the closet, and ask, “What was I thinking?” Neither may ever leave the closet.
*In case you missed this SNL skit, check it out. It sort of goes with my theme.