It all started when I was tasked with finding bridesmaids' gifts for my friend's bachelorette party. "I need something classy and elegant," she said, "but fun!"
And then she put me wholly in charge of the affair, while she went off to argue with the florist about the color of the ribbon that would wrap her bridal bouquet, so I went and bought everyone a Leaf Life. It fit all the criteria: its curved and artistic lines were certainly elegant; the extravagant price tag, I thought, qualified it for the adjective "classy;" and an object designed to stimulate the clitoris was almost by definition fun.
(Full disclosure here: I was a bridesmaid, and I wanted a Leaf Life.)
Of course, this initially went over much as you might expect, what with her protesting that a high-end vibrator was not quite what she had in mind when she told me to do this, and waving one of them in my face as she screamed at me and threatened to fire me as a bridesmaid five days before the wedding and said that I lacked “classiness.” But she discovered my perhaps self-interested choice of gift only on the day of the party, so she had to come up with a hasty plan to pass them off as “personal massagers.”
The personal massager plan didn’t actually last more than two hours into the party, after we had all been drinking and someone (not me! I swear!) made the brilliant observation that maybe this little green personal massager she had just been gifted would feel good “down there” and the bride-to-be turned accusing eyes upon me and I had to admit the truth. But now that we were sufficiently intoxicated, it all seemed quite wonderful and everyone kept sneaking off to the bathrooms to test them out.
In the end, it all worked out well. The other bridesmaids congratulated my friend on her sex-positive thinking and wonderful taste, and we were all more relaxed and full of good vibrations in those final days before the wedding. So, long story short - vibrators make great presents!
…
But on the other hand, there are some instances where it is necessary to proceed with caution. During the party, the topic came up: had any of us ever heard of giving sex toys as presents? While this was a new thing to all of us, a thought kept popping up in the back of my mind: hadn't I seen... something... somewhere... that reminded me of... something?
But I couldn't remember, until one day about a month later, when I was visiting my grandmother...
Grandma had a big display cabinet in her living room with all sorts of knickknacks and fancy teacups and glass statuettes. Whenever I came over, I would look at everything inside. This time, my eye was caught by a glass rose with a odd bulbous stem. It looked strangely familiar for some reason.
“Grandma?” I asked, holding it up. “What’s this?”
“Oh!” Grandma said brightly. “That’s my rose. Harold gave it to me for my birthday.” Harold was Grandma’s new gentleman caller.
And then I had to try very hard not to drop the thing, because I suddenly realized that I was actually holding an Icicles No. 12 glass dildo.
I am afraid the story ends here, without any helpful morals about the importance of frankly discussing sexual matters with one’s grandparents, or about recognizing that elderly people can have sex toys, too, or about confronting impertinent gentleman callers and demanding that they stop corrupting one’s innocent sheltered grandmother, because I was way too cowardly to inquire if she knew what that glass rose actually was. But if your grandma is cool... why shouldn't she own one?
And then she put me wholly in charge of the affair, while she went off to argue with the florist about the color of the ribbon that would wrap her bridal bouquet, so I went and bought everyone a Leaf Life. It fit all the criteria: its curved and artistic lines were certainly elegant; the extravagant price tag, I thought, qualified it for the adjective "classy;" and an object designed to stimulate the clitoris was almost by definition fun.
(Full disclosure here: I was a bridesmaid, and I wanted a Leaf Life.)
Of course, this initially went over much as you might expect, what with her protesting that a high-end vibrator was not quite what she had in mind when she told me to do this, and waving one of them in my face as she screamed at me and threatened to fire me as a bridesmaid five days before the wedding and said that I lacked “classiness.” But she discovered my perhaps self-interested choice of gift only on the day of the party, so she had to come up with a hasty plan to pass them off as “personal massagers.”
The personal massager plan didn’t actually last more than two hours into the party, after we had all been drinking and someone (not me! I swear!) made the brilliant observation that maybe this little green personal massager she had just been gifted would feel good “down there” and the bride-to-be turned accusing eyes upon me and I had to admit the truth. But now that we were sufficiently intoxicated, it all seemed quite wonderful and everyone kept sneaking off to the bathrooms to test them out.
In the end, it all worked out well. The other bridesmaids congratulated my friend on her sex-positive thinking and wonderful taste, and we were all more relaxed and full of good vibrations in those final days before the wedding. So, long story short - vibrators make great presents!
…
But on the other hand, there are some instances where it is necessary to proceed with caution. During the party, the topic came up: had any of us ever heard of giving sex toys as presents? While this was a new thing to all of us, a thought kept popping up in the back of my mind: hadn't I seen... something... somewhere... that reminded me of... something?
But I couldn't remember, until one day about a month later, when I was visiting my grandmother...
Grandma had a big display cabinet in her living room with all sorts of knickknacks and fancy teacups and glass statuettes. Whenever I came over, I would look at everything inside. This time, my eye was caught by a glass rose with a odd bulbous stem. It looked strangely familiar for some reason.
“Grandma?” I asked, holding it up. “What’s this?”
“Oh!” Grandma said brightly. “That’s my rose. Harold gave it to me for my birthday.” Harold was Grandma’s new gentleman caller.
And then I had to try very hard not to drop the thing, because I suddenly realized that I was actually holding an Icicles No. 12 glass dildo.
I am afraid the story ends here, without any helpful morals about the importance of frankly discussing sexual matters with one’s grandparents, or about recognizing that elderly people can have sex toys, too, or about confronting impertinent gentleman callers and demanding that they stop corrupting one’s innocent sheltered grandmother, because I was way too cowardly to inquire if she knew what that glass rose actually was. But if your grandma is cool... why shouldn't she own one?
Both stories made me laugh. Thank you for sharing them!
Go Grandma! I hope she's enjoying it for its intended purpose!
Enjoyable read, always wondered about gifting such things!