Do you ever suffer from those moments when something has happened or something has been said and you just want time to stop moving so damn slowly between that highly embarrassing incident and you escaping the scene?
My lovely partner in life caused such a scene some years ago. Our neighbours, a youngish couple, popped around about something. To be fair, in recent months, both had put on a considerable amount of weight, but I thought nothing of it really. Maybe the whole thing is my fault, because at some point behind closed doors I think I’d said that, let’s call her Freda, looked like she might be pregnant. This had stuck in my lovely partner’s mind for a while, so just as the couple were going after a quite pleasant conversation, she suddenly blurted out, “Oh, Freda, when is the baby due?”
Silence. For what seemed like an eternity. Then some rather upset frowns now filled their faces. “What do you mean? I’m NOT pregnant!” came the retort.
Ah. There was absolutely no escape from this embarrassing faux pas. It is etched on our minds forever.
So, how to top this.
Well, a few days ago we were in with our slightly annoying yet 80-something year old neighbour. Whilst she was moaning on and on about our unkempt hedge and how there were far too many cats in the neighbourhood, my eye was drawn to her sideboard. Standing neatly alongside some other objects that a typical old lady might keep as ornaments on her mantelpiece or any available surface, was something remarkably out of place. About 10 or 11 centimetres in length and 4 or 5 across, it was unmistakable.
It had two buttons on it. One marked as an on/off button and the other with a wavy line. The whole thing was obviously made from silicone or rubber and it vaguely had rabbits ears and a smudge where the rabbit’s nose might be.
Having clocked exactly what it was, and with the annoying 80-something year old out of the room to make a cup of tea, I gestured to my lovely partner. She stared at it and I watched her face change as she mouthed, “Oh my god!” at me.
Yes, there on full display taking pride of place on the sideboard was a small clitorial vibrator. Yes, it was a vibrator. Here it is:
I managed to take the photo, but not to sit back down before the annoying 80-something year old came back into the room. So, I had to think on my feet and the only thing that came out of my mouth and as nonchalantly as humanly possible was, “I was just admiring your ornaments”.
“Do you like my little rabbit?” she asked without the ground opening up underneath me. “Oh yes, it’s a bit unusual,” I stammered.
She picked it up, put on her glasses and focussed on the power button. She pressed it on. Well, obviously, it started vibrating, and a slightly odd pink glow filled most of it.
“I think it hops around, but every time I put it back down it just falls over.”
Silence. My partner and I were frozen like, well, like rabbits in headlights.
Instinctively feeling the need to speak my partner offered, “What does the other button do? Maybe that makes it hop properly.”
We discovered that the other button actually cycles through seven different vibration patterns, obviously intended to, erm, stimulate an, erm, ‘reaction’ when being used for its original purpose. As you can imagine, the device refused to hop about on the sideboard, preferring to just fall over.
“It’s a bit noisy,” the annoying 80-something year old protested, “I wish it just left the light on but stopped the buzzing. It’s very pretty with the light on.”
This surreal experience felt like it was going on for hours.
“Where did you get it from?” my lovely partner asked trying to be helpful.
Apparently, one of her home-help cleaners had had it in her bag and it had fallen out when she was looking for keys. When asked what it was, the home-help cleaner had explained it was a nice ornament and, in fact, the annoying 80-something year old could have it. She’d put it on the sideboard for her, and left, I assume, in a hurry.
Well, thankfully the conversation changed and we were eventually able to go after a final dressing down about our hedge and a slagging off of our cats. But, right now there’s a clitorial vibrator happily sitting on an annoying 80-something year old’s sideboard.
England's England 