-By Zoe (@zoeshrugged on Twitter)
Before I begin, let me start by stating that I am not the kind of girl who talks freely about her lady parts. I’m not a Samantha, a Carrie, and especially not Lena Dunham with her stupid face and awkward naked body that she feels the need to show off. (Good luck getting that image out of your head.) I’m one of the good girls.
So it was with great giggling that my friend Marissa and I found ourselves at Priscilla’s, the “adult novelty” store for suburban housewives. In contrast to the shady “adult bookstores,” with discreet parking in the rear, these kind of stores are brightly lit, decorated in pink, and commonly found in strip malls. If a respectable woman is seen shopping there, she can just claim that she is “getting something for a friend’s bachelorette (or divorce) party.”
Yeah right, OK, sure.
We were there in search of the finishing touches for our Halloween costumes. We were going to be dominatrices (plural of dominatrix). Upon entering, we were carded (you have to be 18 to enter). We presented our IDs and headed to the costume section.
You’d assume that in a store such as this, the employees would avoid eye contact and let you shop without bother. Quite the contrary. Clearly seeing that we were probably not just window-shopping, the helpful sales lady came over and asked what we were looking for.
We told her our costumes and she shook her head.
“You can’t both be the dominatrix. One of you has to be the submissive. Which one is the submissive?”
“She is.” I pointed at Marissa. “I’m older and bigger. I get to be dominant.”
“And bossier,” I heard her mutter.
“Very good,” the lady said, as we browsed corsets and fishnets. “I’ll bring you some things that you might need.”
I knew she meant business when she returned with a shopping cart.
“You need a dog collar for your sub,” she said to me. (For those not in the BDSM community, “sub” is short for “submissive.” You’re welcome.)
“Thirty dollars?” I loudly asked. “I can get one at PetCo for like five. Let’s see what else you have.”
I pulled out thigh high boots, booty shorts, “love tape” (duct-tape with hearts on it), a riding crop, silk rope, furry handcuffs, ball-gag, latex bodysuit, and a whip.
I think we found where SVU gets its props from.
I smacked Marissa with the riding crop.
“Ow! That hurts!” she protested.
“Shut up. Tell me how much you like it. You’re my sub, my bitch. Don’t make me open the ball-gag now.”
Not content with her role, she grabbed a nearby “toy” and started trying to hit me back. It was like Han Solo and Luke Skywalker replaced their light sabers with imitation phalluses and pleather riding crops.
This display of idiocracy prompted a full-on laughing/snorting fit that attracted the attention of the men in the trench coats who were browsing the DVD section.
“I’d go with Wicked MILFs 17, great soundtrack!” I shouted, smacking Marissa again.
As soon as Marissa selected a (non-latex) outfit, we got in line. Since it was Halloween season, the only time of the year when it’s appropriate to treat a store that sells primarily stripper wear like a Forever 21, the line was long, thus leaving us time to “browse.”
I picked up a DVD, immediately frowning.
“This is all wrong,” I muttered, furrowing my brows and shaking my head.
“I know!” Marissa said. “How do those girls do that?”
“Oh no, I don’t care about that,” I said, showing her the box. “But the title is Bad Schoolgirl’s Gone Wild. There shouldn’t be an apostrophe there. That’s implying that the schoolgirls own ‘gone wild,’ which is impossible since it’s a verb. You can’t own a verb.”
(This is the curse of being a technical writer/editor.)
I flipped it to the back and continued. “This is just terrible,” I said as I shook my head. “It reads ‘Enjoy hours of licking, teasing and spanking.’ They should have used the Oxford Comma here, less one thinks that the combination of teasing and spanking comprises the singular act of licking.”
By now people were looking at us, so Marissa threw it back in the bin.
We had turned the corner and were now adjacent to the counter, where several toys were on display. Now, I understand the shape of most of these toys, but this one looked like an ear of corn with two sides of the husk peeled off at a 45-degree angle.
“What does it do?” she whispered to me.
“According to the box, it brings maximum hours of pleasure,” I replied, turning over the box as she turned it on.
Whatever it was, it was loud.
“Turn it off,” I hissed.
“I can’t!” she exclaimed, fumbling with it.
“Hit the button!”
“I did!” she protested, showing me. “It’s just going faster and harder.”
By this point, people were looking at us.
(What? Like these people hadn’t heard ‘faster and harder’ before?)
She tried to put it back on the counter, but it vibrated louder and knocked over “The Rabbit” and “The Dolphin.”
The lady behind the counter came over, rolling her eyes, and turned it off.
(Apparently you just had to hold the button down.)
We finally got to the front, paid for our purchases, and received a free gift with purchase (lube).
As we walked out of the store, bags in one hand and riding crop in the other, I’m pretty sure that the lady changed the sign to read ‘Must be Over 45 to Enter.’
All I can say is that I’m glad they don’t have a “You break it, you buy it” policy in place. Or someone would be getting a very awkward present for Christmas.
 Hmmm…maybe I could get into this.
 Seriously, they were reading the backs of the DVDs like it was Blockbuster circa 1995 or something.
 I’ve also pointed out spelling and grammar errors in menus, window signs, and the Obamacare website.
 If you really want to know what these are, Google them. Not at work. Or in front of your mom.
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