Blog-friend digi-birder found a really funny
story the other day that I haven't been able to get out of my mind.
You know me. Something starts rattling around in the old black hole I call my brain and it's hard to let go of.
'According to UK tabloid the Sun, a 33-year-old Welsh housewife ended up in hospital after wearing Ann Summers vibrating Passion Pants to her local Asda supermarket in Swansea.
Unfortunately, she became "so aroused by the 2½-inch vibrating bullet inside that she fainted" then "fell against shelves and banged her head". This prompted the attendance of the paramedics who "found the black leatherette panties still buzzing".'
There is so much wrong with this that I just don't know where to start.
How about the obvious...
Now that's out of the way, and I can start asking questions. Inquiring minds, and all.
First of all, I'm not a prude, and don't have any judgements about how people get their jollies as long as it isn't harmful, abusive or disrespectful of others and doesn't involve children or animals.
There are quite a few things that make me feel sexy and get me in the mood. Perfumed bath oil. Candles and wine. Lady Love by Lou Rawls. The muffled thumping of my sons who are duct-taped and locked in the hall closet.
But the grocery store?
Not so much.
I don't get it. What's the turn-on? Standing next to an old guy who's buying bunion cream?
Oooh. Aaah. Oooh. Aaa---
Sorry. Not doing it for me.
Fighting my way past the humongous race-car carts full of somebody else's screaming sproggin?
That actually makes me want rip out my OWN fallopian tubes.
Is the canned-goods aisle sexy? Is there something more to Tuna Helper that I'm missing?
What about the produce section? Boy those eggplants are looking mighty naughty today! I better strip those ears of corn down and see what's underneath! I ought to give those melons a squeeze!
And I don't know about you other ladies, but after an extended round or two of playing hide the salami, my girly parts feel pretty damn sensitive. As in, "If you're looking for round three, Bucko, go play with your golf clubs. There's 18 holes out there somewhere just begging for your attention!"
Well, Hubby and I are getting older, so that hasn't happened in awhile, but you know what I mean.
Anyway, it begs the question...
How do you turn the damn Passion Panties off if you're out and about and it gets to be too much? Is there a remote control? Do you have to actually reach down inside your pants and flip a switch?
Or does it have a clap feature? You know---clap on, clap off. A clapper for your snapper!
I have to say that I find the whole notion a little disturbing.
I can't imagine what I'd do if I was standing in line at the deli counter and some lady next to me was eyeballing the kielbasa and buzzing like an electric toothbrush.
What will they think of next?