Hello my lovelies....
I have not abandoned you - simply knew you could wait for me for a bit. My friend Jess today texted me with a hearty "ARE YOU ALIVE????"
Working less than full time at any one job has led me to work far more than full time in any given week. That and I am the proverbial balls deep into my comp questions, with a look at defending them this fall...and getting my research prepped for next school year in the winter. Methodologies, ethical permission to study children, finding a good site which will match with my personality and style of teaching.
This shit is tiring.
Oh, and for fucks sake, Terrance just yelled into the bedroom to ask if I wanted to go to my 20th High school reunion. Do I? I can't juggle that thought at the moment. Hey Christian are you going? Julie? Anyone? I sure as hell am not going to sit there by myself, and the pure idea make me weirdly nervous and stomach a-flutterin' - as if I just bit into a piece of sashimi that isn't quite right....
So while I grapple with my bizarro need for both "LOVE ME WORLD! SEE HOW MUCH I ROCK" and my (well documented) urge to run like the wind in the opposite direction of any kind of social situation, I give you this real life, true, honest to pete story.
Two weeks ago, I had just throughly washed my selection of vibrators.
(Now THAT is a sentence to be proud of!)
I noticed that the oldest one - my first pink Rabbit - was ....well.... not looking so good. The material it is most likely made of is the same kind of stuff which has recently been flagged as "BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH". And lets face it - if I am not supposed to have it as a shower curtain, I certainly don't want to be having a far more intimate encounter with it. I may not plan on using the vagina as an exit for child in the future, but I sure as hell would like to keep it in commission for the next 60 years.
Being a practical lass, I made the decision to bid adieu to my beloved and trusty Pink Jack Rabbit. I threw it away and went about my day.
Several hours later, Terrance was in the kitchen. His yell alerted me to something being amiss.
"DAWN! OMIGOD! GET IN HERE!! I THINK THERE IS SOMETHING IN THE GARBAGE"
I think we all see where this is going, right?
I walk into the kitchen to see Terrance looking at the garbage pail as if an angry badger was going to bust out and gnaw his ankle. I sigh, dramatically.
"Its nothing. Don't worry about it."
"WHY? DO YOU KNOW WHATS IN THERE???"
"Yes. I threw something away.Really - don't worry."
His eyes narrow. The noise from the bottom of the garbage continues joyfully.
"What is in the garbage."
Another sigh from me. He has never been a "fan" of my array of toys and I really don't want to explain this whole thing, and now I regret - deeply - the oversight of taking the batteries out of the damn thing.
"My rabbit vibrator - I decided that the plastic was most likely degrading and I couldn't disinfect it properly, so I threw it out."
"Dawn! In the garbage?!? We have to get it out!!!"
He stares at the bag of garbage. He seems to actually intend to empty the trash to get to the still buzzing away rabbit.
"Why do we have to get it out - The batteries were just about dead anyway. Shit, the thing never functioned so well for me as it seems to be at the bottom of the can - the cord was wonky and would cut out on me at the most inopportune time...."
"What if the garbage men hear it? We can't have it buzzing and going off when they empty the trash!"
I fix a very puzzled stare at my spouse. He seems to be concerned for the delicate moral nature of our sanitation engineers. Because they NEVER see things in peoples garbage...and most likely have NEVER seen any kinds of sex toys or things of a sexual nature..... I would be more concerned to find it in the recycle bin than the trash.
As if on cue, the vibrator comes to an abrupt halt. Our garbage is once again silent.
"Why don't I take it out to the bin?", I suggest taking the bag from the hands of my scandalized husband.