Tonight, I lounged on a terrasse with Ellen and Mona and D. We touched base on Ellen’s recent break-up, D’s underwhelming second date with the drummer/mathematician, and the impending marriage and fatherhood of one of D’s ex’s.
Then we discussed vibrators. We concluded: (a) that we all need new ones, (b) that they’re ridiculously overpriced, and (c) that “the bunny” stands head and shoulders (or should that be head and ears?) above the rest. We agreed to go vibrator shopping before D. leaves town, which seems like a fitting tribute to her time in Montreal.
I didn’t mention it tonight, but my mother gave me my first vibrator when I was twelve. She had picked it up at a garage sale and presented it to me as a “massager,” which is exactly what it said on the box. Knowing better, I thanked her profusely for the gift and promptly disappeared into my room.
It now occurs to me that that vibrator weathered almost twelve years of use before its motor finally gave out. There have been other vibrators since, of course, but you never forget your first, do you?