I’m not the tidiest person on the planet.
I admit it freely. But once in a while something will happen that makes me “see” my mess, and then I’ll go crazy on it like a Heart song. I don’t think I’m the only one who doesn’t notice fingerprints on the walls and coffee drips down the cabinets on a daily basis. When I eventually do, though, I’m mortified I’ve been oblivious, wallowing in shit for god knows how long, and I go on a scrubbing jag.
Well, my summer clothes are competing with my winter for dresser space and my underwear drawer was so full, it spilled unmentionables down the back insides of the dresser. My hubs had to get a grabby claw thing and pull them out so I could close my drawers again.
Clearly, I’ve been shit wallowing.
So, today I cleaned out my undies drawer. We’ll say nothing of the dishwasher I didn’t finish emptying or the rug that is in dire need of vacuuming or…well, basically any other space in my house. I moved slutty special occasion garments back to their spot in the closet and ditched thongs (condolences to my hubs and congratulations to my ass–I can’t believe I spent the 90’s in those fucking things).
And I found an artifact I’d completely forgotten about.
Enter the crystal dildo:
I shit you not.
This beauty was a freebie I received for purchasing porn DVDs (and various other…stuff). In fact, I remember making sure I put enough sex accouterments in my cyber cart to ensure I got the glass dildo-to-end-all-dildos.
It’s lovely if not especially titillating. It could pass as a mushroom just as well as a phallus. I suppose the hearts are more than mere decorations as they’re raised for…someone’s pleasure. Shrug. It’s got a solid base so it can stand at attention unassisted or be easily retrieved from tight spaces. It even came in a red velour bag for classy storage (or gift wrap?).
I’ve never done more than hold this delicate masturbatory device up to the light and admire it.
Don’t get me wrong (as if you would)–I thoroughly enjoy my sextras. Just moments ago I sighed in fond memory as I stuck my crotchless panties right back into heavy rotation.
But, honestly, the glass dildo doesn’t make me want to abuse myself (or others). It’s like a stunning work of art.
That doesn’t vibrate.
It belongs in a china cabinet, not a vagina cabinet (sorry, I had to).
So that’s where I put it:
Right next to the shot glasses my Swedish buddy gave us for a wedding present, standing sentinel before the ugly Irish marriage blessing plate, and flouting the fancy-shmancy toasting flutes we were gifted on our special day.
Hey, why not a crystal dildo to celebrate the sacred covenant of marriage? Seems like the luckiest keepsake there (besides the shot glasses, of course).
Yup. I’m totally leaving it. Twenty bucks says no one notices and I eventually smash it reaching for a martini glass.
Okay. I’ll tuck it behind this ridiculous soup tureen that gets just as much action. You know, in case my MIL visits.