The Curious Incident of the Dildo in the Night-time.

MadMad, my blog on aging is coming up, just have a couple three others to work through first. Just so you didn't think I forgot you. Not that I think you're sitting there with bated breath waiting for it, just- you know.

Disclaimer- if the very word "dildo" makes you cross yourself, I won't be offended if you skip this one. If it only makes you blush a little, you're okay. If it makes you giggle, enjoy. If you have twenty dildos in your dresser drawer, some with attachments, you might find yourself rolling your eyes at me. You have been warned.

I finally thought of a story I could submit for Ordinary Mom's contest. This was far more traumatic for Brad than it was for me, and I'm still not sure he's entirely recovered, so I submit this on his behalf, in the TMI category.

Okay, let me start off by saying that nothing actually happened with the dildo in the night-time, much to Brad's eternal chagrin. I just couldn't pass up that title.

It's funny how long it takes to really get to know someone, even a spouse. When we were dating he actually bought me a stuffed animal. I know, I know. But now he's knows better.

Many years ago, before we were parents, Brad somehow came up with this brilliant idea to buy me a dildo. I have no idea how it could have occurred to him that such a gift might go over well with someone brought up in a profoundly religious household, but it did. And it wasn't just any dildo. It was a big, blue, gelatinous thing complete with testicles and veins. It was circumcised, I will give him points for that.

He was not prepared for my negative reaction. There are four stages a woman like me goes through upon being presented with a big blue dildo as though it were an engraved diamond ring from Tiffany's. I call it SHAA.

1. Shock. "Huh? What is this? You're kidding, right?"
2. Hysterical laughter. "OMG you actually thought I- HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
3. Anger. "WTF???? What kind of girl do you think I am????"
4. Amused denial. "Let's agree to keep this quiet. You agree never to buy me such a thing ever again, and I'll agree not to tell all my friends tonight at P.F.Chang's. Not loudly enough that others can hear anyway. Not at the next restaurant over anyway."

We weren't really sure what to do with it. It seemed wasteful to just throw it away, besides, someone might see it. It floated around for a bit, from one dresser drawer to another. Finally I got tired of it jumping out at me when I least expected it and I shoved it between a couple of Brad's t-shirts.

Several months later, the dildo almost completely forgotten, we went to a biker rally for a weekend (Brad was in a veteran's motorcycle club called the Rough Riders, go figure). Brad insisted that I pack for him, a womanly task such as it was. I had no clue what he'd want to wear, I just shoved some underwear and shirts and such into a bag.

That biker rally was a story in and of itself, so I won't go there.

I will tell you though, that it was pretty darn funny to watch Brad walking around amongst a few hundred big bad biker dudes and their "old ladies" with a perfect -veins and all- jellied imprint of a large penis across his belly. He was mortified, but it was all he had left to wear. I think it's safe to say there will be no more dildos in my future.

I'm not really sure what happened to the dildo after that, but I have a feeling it finally made it to the trash.