I want my mom to come visit me at work. She won’t.
To be clear, I want her to visit me because she’s my friend and it might be kind of fun, but I definitely don’t want her to buy anything when I’m around. There a few things worse than the prospect of my mom as a sexual being. I don’t even like it when I catch her sucking on a Popsicle.
I’m sure the feeling is mutual. Unfortunately for my mom, she reads this column regularly, so by now she’s been treated to a lot of butt-sex talk. My dad refuses to read this because it offends his sensibilities, but oddly enough he has been to my job. My parents are nothing if not consistently surprising.
My dad is a man who buttons his top shirt button. Relatively recently, he rediscovered Christianity and he likes making it pretty clear that he thinks I need Jesus. But while I was talking to him on the phone the other day, he asked me about work and made some crack about dildos and it struck me that he was just a little too familiar with them. I had to hang up.
“My mom has this!” he screamed. “She told me she uses it to watch TV! Aw this is sick!” For the record, the Liberator is essentially a medical wedge, which are devices sold for totally innocuous purposes. She very well might have been telling the truth. But MAYBE NOT.
One of my all-time favorite customers was a sweet, genteel looking woman (think Mamie Eisenhower, without the bangs) who came in and dropped several hundred dollars on vibrators. She said she was in town visiting her twin sons (who where in their thirties) and she was in a rush because if she wasn’t back in 45 minutes they would start to worry about her.