Even I Have My Limits: Don't Invite Me to Any "Tasteful" Toy Parties.

If you know me in real life, you know I'm a fairly open person and that it takes a lot to embarrass me. I mean a lot. My mother has long since lost her ability to embarrass me by threatening to sing the Hokey Pokey in the middle of Wal-Mart. (I'd probably join in at this stage in my life and lead the crowd in a mass Hokey-Pokeying.) The truth is that there are very few words that offend me or subjects that are otherwise off limits, be you friend, family, or a complete God damn stranger. That said there is one topic that I can say categorically makes me massively, and I mean MASSIVELY uncomfortable.

They call them tasteful, but I think taste is a relative thing. I don't get these parties that are cleverly named so you'll feel comfortable purchasing "intimate items" while sitting next to your closest friends and family members. First of all, I don't want to know what you're buying. Second of all, I don't want you to know what I'm buying. Third of all, OMG THAT'S MY MOM, SHE CAN'T KNOW THAT I WOULD EVEN CONSIDER BUYING SOMETHING LIKE THIS.

Kidding.

It's the damnedest thing; I have no idea why anyone would participate in such an activity. What happened to going in ALONE to a shop and buying what you want in the comfort of anonymity (while secretly checking out what strangers are buying and either being horrified/curious/confused/titillated/laughing hysterically on the inside)???


No. There are people—usually women with a contingency of gay men—who invite their friends and FAMILY to their house where toys, accessories, novelties, and other product are exhibited. And then people buy these products. They do demos. Some people even test-run these products—yet the hosts don't have the courtesy to offer brain bleach at these parties, as I understand it, which is perhaps a crime against humanity. They taste these products, "You know I love licorice. And I love getting frisky. Maybe they're onto something with this licorice flavored whip!" They discuss the offerings as though they were considering buying a new knickknack, "Oh look honey, it's shaped like a woodland creature!" (THINGS THUMPER WAS NEVER INTENDED FOR, I MIGHT ADD.)

What gets me is there is a potential for someone to see what you've bought and to later on down the road ask, "How are you enjoying your ____________?" Oh my God. NO! No, no, no. I mean that's truly horrifying, and I'm pretty sure if someone I knew did ask me that I'd have a coronary.

And I'm not a prude. I want to make that clear; I'm not someone who faints at a dirty joke or who can't have an open discussion about sexuality. I'm sex positive; everyone should do their thing in a safe, legal, consensual manner, challenging their boundaries, having fun, etc. And the truth is I'm probably my friends' most offensively frank friend—and that group's not a bunch of delicate flowers either. No. I just have a comfort zone and that comfort zone does not include my mother or even bestest best friend in the whole wide world knowing if I bought a "massager" or not.