I thought this one would be easy. I mean, last week I had to go and visit some Museum of Relationships, Sensuality and Larking About With Other Peoples Genetalia for a piece I was writing anyway, so thought that while I was there, I could knock off one of the suggested pre-30 list items right there and then without even barely trying.
It was a posh sex shop, obviously, because it was in the respectable pretend-museum-place, thus it wasnt as scary as the usual black-windowed-smuttery. More of a bootytique, really.
Still, I blushed hot red wandering around the pokey little pokeyparlor, pondering the efficacy of paper underwear, picking up things, then dropping them when I realised that the things shaped like hot potatoes were not only hot potatoes, but hot potatoes you were meant to stick up your bottom. Or something.
And then there was chocolate that cost three times as much as chocolate in other shops (which is probably miles nicer); I think because it had a bow on it, the word Sensual in its name, and some kind of innuendo in the blurb on the back. And probably a leaflet inside with directions of how best to stick it up your bottom. I generally suspect Im a little too English for sex shops, really.
Anyway, in a big tray over in the corner of the In-Out-In-Outlet, there were a number of subtle, classy little boxes, with fancy scrolled text and, little writing.
They were all manner of different things, beads and balls, and buttons and batons and blah blah blah. And then I found one box tucked away at the back.
Mini Vibrator on a Keyring it said.
Not only a mini vibrator, which is fine, obv, but ON A KEYRING.
Well who knew? There IS somewhere I havent thought of looking for my keys after all.
Quite apart from the whole social embarassment of having a gently humming tiddler tickler hanging off your housekeys, it just led me into a world of mental possibilities that I hadnt before that moment even considered a possibilty.
Oh no, I have lost my keys
Do you remember where you last had them?
OH! Um… Yes?
Or the look of horror as your keys come dancing out of your handbag, thrown on the table in an important meeting, dragged by a little buzzing clitorjiggler, jangling their way across the table making sure to draw everyones attention before clattering to the floor.
I stood there with the box in my hand, mind tumbling over the comedy potential of owning such an object.
£24.99 said a voice at my shoulder.
The racytail assistant had clearly mistaken my amused confusion for serious interest and, having nothing so common as price stickers (I assume they chafe) was coming over to whisper the damage delicately in my shell-like.
Reader, I failed the challenge.
I have no keyring vibrator.
Come ON, it was £24.99, and I already have a small Lego Darth Vader that serves me awfully well, thank you very much.
At keeping my keys together.
It serves me well at Keeping My Keys Together.
Jesus, you people are filthy.