So, we’re here at Casa LaVenuta–all moved in, for the most part. The movers did a pretty great job overall, although when 5pm rolled around–they were no where to be found–like those cartoons where all you see is the cloud of dust as they sped away.
On a very odd note, J went to the garage of the new house (where our belongings are being stored) to look for my fire stick remote, and heard a buzzing coming from my night table. Turns out, a vibrator had been turned on and was running at a pretty good clip. Ordinarily, it could be assumed that the moving jostled it inside my bedside table drawer and it accidentally turned on.
But this particular vibrator has a power button that needs to be pushed in order for it to go–and held in for a few seconds to turn it off again. In addition, it has several moving parts, all of which have their own switch. In case you haven’t figured out where this is going–the movers, at least one of them, was handling my vibrator. The one that I use on the regular–the one that not only touches my hoo haw, but actually goes in there too–pretty much daily (don’t judge, it’s healthy on so many levels). I’m really not sure how to feel about the fact that a total stranger was handling something so personal of mine.
On one hand, it is bothersome that someone, a stranger, would handle another person’s sex toy without the owner’s knowledge or permission; but on the other hand, it’s sort of funny to think about the various things going through that guy’s mind while he was checking the whole thing out. Either way, it’s definitely on creepy spectrum and the vibrator itself will need to undergo a thorough cleaning. Twice. Is there a moral to this story? Probably not, other than complex vibrators are pretty much their own intruder alarms. Well that, and always remember to clean your toys. Twice.
ealvfargond 