When I got to work yesterday afternoon it was pretty dead, so I decided to clean the book shelfs. While doing so a 50-Shades-of-Grey guy rushes up the stairs, finds the nearest employee (my manager) and says:
“I’m pretty ignorant about all this stuff, I need help finding balls? Balls, you know, those feng shui things.”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Yes, sir, right this way, let’s help your wife feng shui her vagina, I myself prefer a minimialist decor up there while my co-worker here enjoys the contemporary french style.
While paying for the feng shui balls (actually kegel balls) he turns to me and says, “do you mind if I ask you something?” (since I am a woman I presume and my manager is obviously not sticking things up/in/on his nonexistent vagina). . . “What do you like here? Like what else should I get for her?”
Bam! Another $80 vibrator sold in less than 10 seconds.
What my manager has yet to figure out is that these 50 Shade Husbands will spend bank. They don’t give a fuck what the stuff costs because they’re just excited their wives want to have sex with them again. And not just sex, but considerably kinkier sex than they’ve ever had. It’s much cheaper than a divorce or a mistress, so they’re all coming over in droves–I thank the book for that–but am annoyed at the fact that it took so long for our culture to open up more about sexuality.
And it wasn’t necessarily the book that did this, but all the conversation around the book on talk shows and such. It all collectively gave women permission to experiment. If Dr. Oz and The Talk and The View etc. all say it’s cool and all your friends are doing then you have to, right?
Whatever, at least more orgasms are happening.
That’s got to be something.