No, not really. I’m not a fan of the dildo. I actually have gone back and forth on blogging this here or just writing it up for some other adventure in the future, and with everything I’m unable to blog lately due to its sexual nature (and my Virgo need to pigeon-hole everything)… something has to give.

I bought sex toys. Its my first toy purchase in years, since moving to NoVa when I discovered that our moving company had wrapped up all of my other toys and packed them for me. I was mortified and a little afraid of what they really did with them. Did they at least wear gloves? So, I threw them away, got pregnant 8 million times and forgot that I had a solo-sex life. Rawr!

It occurred to me recently that since my solo-sex life was becoming, well, monotonous, it was time to spice it up. Sharon O (from Debauchery Week fame) had suggested a few times we hit the sex store in the area, but we never had the time. Instead, I went online, because I still didn’t have the time. All weekend, I was a-twitter about my future sex, in my bed, alone. I patiently waited for the box and once it arrived (2 day shipping, yo!), I sneaked it upstairs before the kids could demand to see what was within. I glanced at the two (yes, two, fuck off) boxes and noted they needed batteries. Shit.

Clearly, I’ve not done this in a while. So, during homework time on Tuesday, I was scrounging for batteries, and thought I found some (pencil sharpener!) for one of the toys. WOOT! The Husband came home, got his “present” (its only fair), and I went upstairs to take a bath with my new bath bar… and yes, I had concealed the batteries lest some pervy male spouse try to interrupt my alone time.

I put the batteries in gently, slowly, savoring the slippery sensation of them sliding into the pink… uh… ahem. I put the batteries in AA toy (there is also AAA toy, for the record, but no batteries as of that night), turned it on and was ready to rock. I ran a bath, added girly bath stuff, and got in and started gettin’ busy… and I noticed that my new friend was, well, having performance problems. I turned it off, turned it on again, and it barely even moved.Then I turned it upside down and a ton of water came out.

You must be kidding me.

I am the only person I know who can fuck up a vibrator.

It was not waterproof. AAA toy is. AA is not. Fuck! I may have cried a bit.

The Husband came up later and asked me if I found batteries. I totally lied. My own humiliation was enough. (Yes, then I blogged it, but whatever)

The next day, I had to get some groceries and figured I’d just pick up some batteries at the store and stifled my 15-year-old-boy giggles upon seeing this sign:

Yes, Melia, we are your battery Mecca! Come, shop, and look forward to a very, very happy ending!

I’m down with that, obscure vibrator-referencing sign. You’re a little scary, but that’s OK, surely I’m not the only person on the planet who goes grocery shopping for birthday cake and batteries, right?

(Sure, Melia, just remember that nobody in Stepford has RSVP’d to your dildo party, yet)

Yet, in my normal grocery frenzy, I managed to completely forget that I needed batteries. How? I don’t freaking know. I just did. I remembered right after I put all of my stuff on the belt and was given two choices for batteries… regular, “store brand,” and lithium “more power for the devices you rely on.”

Which did I get?

I seem to recall, a few years back, someone telling me that a certain bunny-shaped toy was a bit too much for their needs. Yeah, MJ, I’m talking about you. Can I just say how completely unimpressed I was? Lithium batteries and all. Sigh.

Two down… about 800 million to go. The things I do for the sake of bloggertainment.