Dildos I have known, or, rotate your mattress more than once every couple of years.

*****Fair Warning: If you don’t care for TMI, scroll, bitches. But if you’re my friend, you ought to be used to this. And if you came to this site, you’re a magnificent bastard. *****

The Male Sibling Unit assisted me with finishing up my cleaning and rearranging of the bedroom on Sunday. I moved my computer downstairs and set everything up so I don’t have to run up and down the stairs constantly. As I’ve said before, I feel like I only want and need things around me that I love, and so bags and bags of clothes, shoes, and junk have exited this house these past couple of months.

We had to move the bed, and I wanted to rotate the mattress and wash the canopy curtains. The Male Sibling Unit does not understand the logic of rotating the mattress and pronounced this “stupid” underneath his breath. The beauty of my repurposed door as a headboard and canopy eluded him, too, and he kept asking, “Why is there a door here?” I explained it to him, and then he needed to know

Where the door came from


What if I wanted to put the door back someday?

Valid questions, I guess.

Now, underneath the bed could only be described as “Lori, you need to reevaluate your choice of flip flops, socks, books, and Tim Horton’s coffee cups that you were keeping because you rolled up the rim and won a fucking donut. And then failed to redeem them.” It also revealed dust bunnies that were actually evolving into dust Predators, and various wadded-up receipts that I made for a cat to bat around. I also figured out where my underwear was disappearing to, and I will have two brand-new pairs of gloves for winter. I found a bag of Halloween decorations I bought after Halloween because it’s ALWAYS Halloween in my head. Now I have chains, a crow skeleton figure, and a rat skeleton figure festooning the boudoir, because this is the bedchamber of a Gothic demoness, after all (Shelby Margaret). Good stuff. But it was one such discovery that sparked a conversation that I never thought I’d have, and that I’d never have wanted to have in the first place.

It’s Shelby’s room. I just sleep there.

As The Male Sibling Unit helped me to pick up the mattress and prop it against the wall, I spied a purple, cylindrical object laying on the box spring and hurried to grab it. I wasn’t quick enough and, as I quickly threw it in the trash bag, he pounced.

“Why,” he asked, “have you got a big, purple crayon under your mattress?”

Disclaimer: I’m a chick, and I have needs. I’m also a chick who has had a hysterectomy. While I don’t feel the need to justify the fact that I own a vibrator, I do feel the need to point out that the husband knows, and in the very early days of being ladypart-free, he had to be EXTREMELY patient while I figured out what worked for me during Sexy Time. I had not ever owned a sexual aid before, but, in frustration, I purchased the Purple Miracle at Spencer’s on a day trip to Erie. It was very, very useful, and friendly, and patient. It also stopped working, like, two years ago, and I forgot it was even under there. I should have thrown it away back when I discovered that its get-up-and-go had got-up-and-went, but I guess I was too nostalgic (being a pack rat and all, growing Predators under the bed). After all, it had helped me through a very hard (not the best description but it’ll do, pig – the husband) period of time when I was afraid that I might never awaken the neighborhood again by repeatedly taking the Lord’s name in vain.

Dust Predator Bunny

So, I could have just said, “Oh, it was for coloring in bed.” I think The Male Sibling Unit might have bought that. Something, though, in the tone of his voice, told me that he didn’t believe it was a purple crayon and that his sister masqueraded as Harold on occasion at bedtime.

Me: It’s not a crayon.

Him: It isn’t? What is it then?

Me: What do you THINK it is?

Him: Well, I dunno. (giggles nervously)

Me: (fishes it out of the bag and shows him) What is this?

Him: (laughs really loud) LOOKS like a crayon.

Me: But it isn’t. Do you know?

Him: D’oh!!! Oh my GOD!!!! (hunches over and slaps his leg, laughing loudly again)

Me: So? What do you think it is?

Him: It’s a, umm, it’s a DILDO.

Extra points to The Male Sibling Unit for knowing his sex toy terminology! I was impressed! But only for a moment, because then, he disturbed me.

Me: So you know what a dildo is, then? By the way, I call it a vibrator.

Him: YES I do! Hahahahaha!!!!

Me: Okay, what do you do with it?

Him: You smack your ass with it!


Him: Yes, you do! You smack it on your ass!

Me: Uh…you think I take this and hit myself on the butt with it? That’s it?

Him: Or Scott does it.

At this point, I needed to sit down. The visuals that popped into my head made it hard for me to breath through the honking, nose-running-because-the-dust hysterics that had overtaken me. The Male Sibling Unit was thrilled to have elicited such a response from me and wondered aloud, “I think Carol might like a dildo. I should ask her!” Through my shrieks and choking laughter, I said, “So you won’t have the sex with her but you’ll smack her ass with a dildo?”

“Yes!” The Male Sibling Unit then did a little jig. Through my epileptic-like peals of hysteria, I managed to say, “No….Carol would NOT like a dildo. So please don’t ask her!”

Perhaps the dead Purple Miracle (may it rest in peace) awakened the 15 year-old in The Male Sibling Unit, though. Out of the blue tonight, he sent me a text from his man cave:


4 thoughts on “Dildos I have known, or, rotate your mattress more than once every couple of years.

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