One of the very, very few adult stores in my area had their annual ladies’ night party. They brought in games, raffles, vendors/manufacturers, and male strippers. Everyone was super excited about the male strippers. Apparently.
I perused among the games, but they were all casino-like games that I had no interest in. Most of the other women there were having a marvelous time with them, though. Now, to be fair, I knew ahead of time that’s the kind of games that would be there, but I wasn’t there for the games. I was there to network with the many toy companies that were there, ’cause, I mean, blog.
I moved among the vendors, and was incredibly delighted that some of the reps knew exactly who I was, and chatted with me about all the changes they are making, new toys coming out, and offering me first crack at some new, exciting products. It was a fantastic start. When I moved further in the room, I met some other reps from companies I knew nothing about, but I’m all for trying out new companies.
One of the new-to-me companies presented me with some mini-vibes that they were excited about. They didn’t seem all that interesting to me, and I’m the honest-but-polite type, so I handed back the small vibes and commented that the toy pouch they come in is cute. The rep made that his selling point, boasting that they are the first toy company to offer that kind of pouch. Isn’t it fantastic? Isn’t it amazing? Isn’t it just fabulous? Not really. It’s a pouch. A nice pouch, but still a pouch. I don’t encourage my readers to shell out tons of money for a nice pouch.
Moving on through the vendors, I came across another company that I didn’t know about. The woman behind the table showed me a tiny ceramic vibrator, made for the clitoris. She waited for me to be wowed. I commented that I liked the color (it wasn’t pink. That alone deserves a positive comment). She placed it my hand and turned it on. I guess this was the part where I was supposed to coo and ask if I could buy one, but I wasn’t impressed. It felt very buzzy, not rumbly at all, like a typical cheap bullet vibe, just made of a better material. I handed it back to her, told her thank you, but it’s not the kind of vibrations I like. She made a face like I had just killed a puppy in front of her.
I finished making the rounds of all the companies I wanted to talk to (and I few that I specifically avoided), and just hung around for a while, waiting for the end of the night festivities: a big raffle and a bunch of male strippers. Sure, why not. I’ve never seen strippers, male or otherwise. It could be interesting.
As I wandered from the vendor/manufacturer tables back into the main room where the raffle would be held, a well-dressed man stepped into my path and stopped me, which honestly freaked me out a little. It felt kind of aggressive and more than a little off-putting.
“Have you been Kangaroo’d?” he asked me.
Then he shoved this in my hand.
Oh, so THAT’S how to make it easy to be a woman. I’ve been doing it wrong for years.
Uh…OK… Weird. One of my friends later asked me if I had in fact taken the little pill. [Sarcasm] Yes, because I’m in the habit of taking pills given to me by strangers. [/Sarcasm] No, of course I didn’t take it. I didn’t know who this guy was, I’d never heard of the company, and didn’t remember the company name being rattled off the vendor list.
I joined a crowd of people and made idle chit chat with a late middle-aged woman with a deep tan and a bright sundress (I’m not making a negative comment on her clothing, so we’re clear. I just happen to remember that about her). She had an alcoholic drink in her hand, but I went out to the patio in search of a bottle of water. I’m not really a drinker. She followed me out, ended up running into me and spilling her [very cold] drink down my back.
The night was coming to an end and it was time for the raffle and male strippers. There were a couple of good things in the raffle, so I stayed for a while. They trotted out the strippers, blah blah, rippling muscles, no shirts, jumping around, blah blah. The women around me were screaming, clapping, pulling out their cell phones to take videos and photos. I watched the guys for a few minutes but then–and I may lose my lady card for this–I got bored. It turns out that a hot guy in and of himself does nothing for me. I moved to the back of the room, pulled out my phone, and texted Husband that maybe I really am a sapiosexual after all. All the sceaming around me every time one of the guys flexed or did a rather hokey dance was actually getting on my nerves.
I ended up leaving early and giving my prize tickets to a woman next to me. Did I have fun? Well, mostly. I met some great people from fantastic companies, and even though I didn’t find male strippers interesting, like, at all, it’s good to find out that’s not my thing. I can avoid uncomfortable bachelorette parties.