Suburban Goddess

My husband used to work for a company that sold industrial-strength vibrators. NO, NOT THAT KIND. As he explained it to me, it is a device used in grain silos that keeps the grain from building up on the walls. So, in a clever marketing ploy, he had a bunch of stickers made that said “I love my vibrator.” Shortly after we began dating, one ended up on my vehicle, and there has been one on every vehicle I have owned since, whether I want it there or not. Over the years, I tend to forget about it until I meet someone new, and then I feel obliged to share the story. It takes a strong (or nosy) personality to approach the subject; the rest just look at me with a “shame-on-you” face. No, shame on YOU for assuming the worst. Anyway, I was filling up my truck yesterday when I noticed the Beer Man eyeing me.

“What year is that truck?”

“2005,” I replied. Guys like the truck, but generally hate the color. No surprises yet.

“Something wrong with it?”

I looked it over from front to back. “Um, no. Why?”

“Does it vibrate?”

Oh, I see. “No, not generally.”

Silence for a moment. “So, you like your vibrator?”

At this point it usually gets uncomfortable. I felt the need to explain, so I rattled off the whole story. He got a laugh out of it and tipped his hat with a parting remark. “Well, that’s quite a conversation piece you got there.”

Indeed it is. How could I possibly have trouble making friends?

This entry was posted on June 20, 2006 at 5:27 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.