Last night I went to what was basically a Tupperware party. Except, instead of plastic containers, the party featured plastic, uh, marital aides. The entire experience was at times surreal and at other times patently normal. The surreal part came and went. One of the guests at this girls-only party was someone I would describe as country. Make that, kountry. And this bitch had a story for EVERY device brought out.
Oh, don’t put oils on that or it’ll break the latex down and you won’t be able to use it.
My husband won’t wear a regular cock ring, but he’ll wear that one. He says it’s stretchy.
You shouldn’t let that gel get in your hoo-ha because it’ll sting.
On and on this goes, to the point that I finally ask, in my textbook I-can’t-take-this-anymore way, do you HAVE a day job? Or do you just sit at home and try cock rings on your husband?
The chick is not at all flustered and just says, we’ve been married for ten years.
Maybe that’s the secret to long-lived relationships – get a cock ring that fits, don’t put sugary gel up in your business and keep an open mind. Now that I think about it, didn’t Garrison Keillor mention that in Prairie Home Companion?