The Story Of The Golden Vibrator

After I told you guys all about my problems with finding appropriate places to hide my broken sex toys, my bosses here at Toy With Me took pity on me and offered to send me a new sex toy. It was gold, the email said, and because I am a cross between a magpie, an octopus and a heiress, the prospect of shiny things is always something that makes me do a Snoopy-style happy dance. I readily agreed, providing I didn’t have to give a detailed description of myself using said big, gold, vibrator. Because while I am proud as hell to be able to talk about sex openly on the internet, I do not need to write erotica, mostly because I’d be very, very bad at it. Plus, I write under my real name, and frankly, I don’t need the people who may one day hire me to write grocery store flyers to google me and see, “thrusting” or “gold penis” in my portfolio.

Once more, however, I digress. Happy with the prospect of using a sex toy that wasn’t held together by tape, prayers and sheer force of will (note to self: spend actual money on sex toys), I packed my bags for New York City, preparing for that big old blogging conference, BlogHer. While we writers normally write clad in such finery as “stained sweatpants” and “old tank-tops,” for some reason, we feel it is HIGHLY important to convince each other that we do, in fact, not, so we all spend months ahead of time shopping carefully for just the right outfits that say, “Hey World, I’m NOT actually a huge freaking NERD who writes on The Internet.” Because I do not plan ahead, I also ordered a bunch of things online right before I left, hoping they MIGHT get there before I had to leave.

My bedroom before I left looked as though a bomb of shopping bags, discarded labels and tissue paper had exploded inside of it, and because I do not plan ahead of time—ever–it looked that way as I walked out the door to catch my ass-early flight. Since I do have children, and I would have rather swallowed hot tar than bring them with me to a conference about blogging, or, really, anywhere that required an airplane ride, going out of town for a couple of days meant that I couldn’t just leave them locked up in the basement with kibble and a water bowl. So I had to get them a babysitter.

That task fell to my incredibly conservative mother-in-law. And when I say “incredibly conservative,” Toy With Me-ers, I hope that you understand the magnitude of what I am saying, because there are people out there who are just, you know, KIND of less risque than, well, US, but then there are people like, well, HER. She’s pretty much my inverse. If she saw one of my newly minted “Shut Your Whore Mouth Shirts,” I think rather than be horrified and disgusted and “tut-tut” a little bit, her brain might actually liquify in her head. She just couldn’t comprehend something like that.

So, to leave her in charge of my entire house, ALONE, for several days, well, this was going to be an interesting trip for her. I certainly thought it might be rather EYE-opening, but then again, that’s how I think about these things.

On Day Two, I called home to see how things were going and check in to make sure one of my kids hadn’t eaten off the arms of one of the other ones, and she said in her high pitched, sweet-as-pie voice, “Oh! And you got a PACKAGE in the mail!”

My heart thudded to a stop in my chest. The gold motherfucking VIBRATOR. She fucking got the GOLD VIBRATOR in the mail while I was out of town. Holy shit! Please tell me that she didn’t OPEN it or something!

Carefully, I said, “Oh, well, that’s for me. Can you put it in my room, please?”

But as I said that, she was distracted by a cacophony of shrieks in the background and had to get off the phone. And I was left sitting in my hotel room just wondering what had happened to the package. Because my children are as narcissistic (ahem) as their mother, they tend to assume that every single package that arrives has presents for them inside. Would they have convinced her that the package was actually for them?

If they’d managed to finagle the package open to see what was inside, would the box say something like, “Gold Vibrator?” And if so, would she even know what that meant? She was uptight and sheltered enough that I sincerely doubted she’d ever heard of a sex toy before, but if there was a scantily clad couple on the front, perhaps she might understand what it was. And, DEAR SWEET MERCIFUL BABY JESUS ON A STICK, what if she USED IT? I gagged just thinking about it.

There was no good way to be sure. I couldn’t exactly call home and be all, “oh, and hey, ABOUT THAT PACKAGE, did you open it? PLEASE don’t open it. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY LEAVE IT THE FUCK ALONE.” Because the minute you make something sound THAT appealing, you know whatever is inside has GOT to be 1) illegal 2) immoral or 3) both. And I don’t know the lady well enough to know if she’d be able to resist the temptation. I mean, with a freak-out like that, even someone like me, who IS very, very respectful of privacy, would be sorely tempted to open it up to see what was inside this mysterious package.

The rest of the trip, I heard no more about the package because, well, I didn’t call home again. I figured that I’d deal with Package-Gate when I returned. And when I shuffled through the door, late Sunday evening, there it was, displayed not on my bed like I’d begged, but on my computer, a nice flat box, with my name happily written across the top. I took it upstairs and tore inside, eagerly looking for my new golden toy, singing “I GOT THE GOLDEN TICKET, ERM, VIBRATOR!” in a stage whisper, but when I unpacked it, I realized my error in assuming.

Inside was the coat I’d ordered from French Connection. Oh well, I sighed, as I put the new coat on, and twirled in front of the mirror, there’s always tomorrow’s mail.

About Mommy Wants Vodka

Bored by mini-vans, life in the child lane, and pot-pie recipes, Becky began to write on her blog, Mommy Wants Vodka in 2007. She was as shocked as anyone to find out that people actually wanted to read what she wrote. Instead of living a swinging life of weekends in the Congo and curing baldness while holding crack babies, she stays home with her three children. An unpaid, kept woman.

Comments

  1. rofl Is it wrong that I was totally disappointed that she didn't open it?

  2. Hah! For the freaking lulz.

    Looking gorgeous in this photo, BTW.

  3. I was super hoping your MIL opened the vibrator. in a cringe oh no but oh please kind of way.

  4. I'd totally share the husband before the vibrator. That's just too intimate. LOL

  5. Wicked Shaw says:

    I really prefer to keep both to myself. Maybe I am just selfish like that. I must say, do I sound like an assface for saying this is an area where I am hoping I have taught my daughter to be selfish, as well?

  6. Jersey Girl says:

    Excellent Blog! I can just see this happening to me…only my mother WOULD open the package…but I am pretty sure she would not use the vibrator.

    And WTF is with these uptight people? My sisters are that way and I feel like saying "WTF is wrong with you?" They are so freakin' uptight about sex…what a shame that they ALL missed the boat.

  7. Ain't that always the way. Seriously.

  8. Married Maven says:

    I share my husband occasionally, my vibrator is my own.

  9. Fred Miller says:

    What's wrong with sharing vibrators? It's not like sharing husbands.

    You reminded me that with every word I publish I'm destroying my chances of ever returning to the classroom to teach. Let's all face doom together!

  10. "I don’t need the people who may one day hire me to write grocery store flyers to google me and see, “thrusting” or “gold penis” in my portfolio."

    too late!

    ;)

  11. Show pics of the coat. That is picture worthy of a coat from French Connection. Oh lala.

  12. erinmakesitwork says:

    Lol. This just makes you wonderful. I would have had the same freak out.