On Friday, I dipped 74 red velvet cake balls, and then I took those cake balls to an adult toy party if you know what I’m saying and I think you do.
Do you want to know what I purchased at that party? (Seven people just clicked away and might not ever return.) I bought this oil spray stuff (called Body Dew, and be warned that if you Google Body Dew, you might be led to the adult toy site! I just warned you!) that you spray on immediately after a shower and it smells good (because it’s filled with pheromones, naturally) and it keeps your skin soft and winter is coming and winter means dry skin. Body Dew!
This morning I sprayed myself with Body Dew, I participated (passively) in my annual mammogram, and then I went to Trader Joe’s to purchase chia seeds, roasted flax seeds, agave nectar, and jojoba oil because we are becoming the stinky hippies that we used to make fun of. (I also purchased a cinnamon whisk. I have no idea what I’m doing.) Anyway, fifteen people followed me home from Trader Joe’s. Three of them just wanted to see if I live in a hut fashioned out of patchouli leaves. The remaining dozen are wandering around the house asking me to make out with them, and they have no idea why—because a semi-androgynous 42-year-old me clomping about in ill-fitting jeans and Birkenstocks is not normally the chosen brew of monkey love. (I like to dabble in challenging the minds of those who think they crush on The Lovelies.)
And the thing is, I know you want me to talk more about the toy party, but I can’t. Because I took a pretend vow. Just one thing: I can now say that I’ve seen someone I previously knew only on a professional level (can you tell how careful I’m being right now?) standing in front of a crowd holding a simulated organ (not the kind that plays music. Rest in peace, Ernie Hays.) up to her forehead, and for whatever reason, it seemed Okay.
When I was 18 years old, one of my very favorite people gave me a copy of Illusions by Richard Bach. That book came to me at exactly the right time, which always jazzes me to no end. In Illusions, Richard Bach wrote, “Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you.” Clearly, on Friday evening I chose to have a highly-respected professional acquaintance enter my extended social circle and put a fake penis on her head.