The #30til30 list includes a few purchases, one of which I decided to make a few nights ago. After a few beers. Liquid courage, right?
I typed "rabbit" into the Amazon search box, hoping that's all it would take. That search returned rabbit cages, and books about caring for your pet rabbit. Realizing I had to be more specific, I narrowed the results to the "Health and Body" section.
There were a LOT of options.
One of the cardinal rules of #30til30 is to not break the bank, so an $85 contraption wasn't gonna happen. But I browsed, attempting to familiarize myself with the criteria. Waterproof, battery-operated, rotating, vibrating, there are a LOT of considerations to be made. Then I steeled myself and read the reviews (TMI, just so much TMI). I weighed price against negative reviews (Too powerful. Not powerful enough. Just right. Is this Goldilocks?), and made my selection.
Having found something for less than $20, I realized I needed to get to $25 to earn free shipping (obviously). I went to my wishlist and I added to my cart some books about Paris in anticipation of my upcoming trip. I then sailed through the online checkout, afraid that if I paused I might let my embarrassment get the best of me.
The exact moment I confirmed the purchase a panicked thought went coursing through me:
What shipping address had I used?
I frantically navigated back, found the just-placed order, and confirmed my fear. The address wasn't mine, here in DC. It was my home address . . . my mother's address, the address I use when ordering Christmas gifts. All I could think of was my unsuspecting mother opening a package from Amazon, thinking some generous person had sent her a gift, and discovering a guide to the markets of Paris and a bright purple vibrator.
I took a deep breath, logged back in, and quickly located the "edit this order" button. Just a few minutes had passed, so I was easily able to make the change, and have the package sent here to DC.
This will be one of those stories I'm telling for years to come.
It arrived just two days later, a typical Amazon package.
I opened it to find the two books on Paris, and one black plastic pouch. No instructions, no box, nothing really.
|One of these things is not like the other.|
I flipped through the Paris books, ignoring the other item in the box. For all of 45 seconds.
I've been sitting here for a good ten minutes, re-reading what I've written, and wondering if I'll really click "publish." I keep coming up with reasons not to - potential future employers could read this. Family members could read this. So I googled the phrase "I bought a vibrator" and first I saw this which I remember reading, and Jo is a powerhouse blogger, so my resolve was steeled. And then I saw more and more pages about feeling guilty, embarrassing the man in your life, and other silliness that makes it seem that we ladies should be ashamed about getting a little safe, easy sexual pleasure with battery-operated assistance. I didn't start this blog to break down social taboos, but now I feel that it's my duty as a feminist to publish this post. I'm embracing the fear.