shades of red

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and with the whole Hallmarketness of it all comes red roses, dark chocolates, stuffed animals and … costumes. Without getting too graphic or making my relatives who read this squirm, it was about this time last year that I (reluctantly) said OK and accompanied a friend to a special kind of “boutique.” But this was not your everyday cute-and-trendy clothing boutique, oh no – it was a Good Lovin’ Boutique. And it was the size of a tire warehouse. Speaking of rubber, all types of toys, bells, whistles, and what-have-yous were suddenly at our fingertips the second we walked in. Various objects to don, things to down, creams to rub and garments to show off – you name it, it was there. And if you couldn’t name it, it was probably there, too. In assorted fabrics, sizes, shapes and price tags. My face turned the color of a construction paper heart cutout. And we hadn’t even walked past the checkout counter. Deep breath, I thought. No one’s looking at me. No one’s judging … My friend, a fiery young woman with loads of confidence, wanted to get a costume to impress her boyfriend in the bedroom. Kudos to her for creativity. I, on the other hand, believed costumes were strictly for Halloween, high school plays, or five-year-olds’ tea parties. We parted ways – she to the frilly fantasies section and me, wandering awkwardly to no real destination, trying not to linger in any one spot for too long. I didn’t want a salesperson to ask if I needed “help.” How, exactly, does one receive help in such a store anyway? Scratch that (and there, there were items to do just that) – I didn’t want to find out. And that’s when I stumbled upon … the, um, back massager wall. Seriously, the stuff on display was insane. Rainbow colors. Lights. Rotating devices. Strings (attached and not – you pick). Want Fast and the Furious? Some of these babies went from zero to 60 in no time at all. Battery-operated, manually-operated, solar power-operated (OK, no, but you get the point). They. Had. Everything. I was mesmerized, like a mosquito (which I’m sure they had in some form) heading toward the blue light … “Why, hello there!” Crap, I lingered too long! Eff … “Is there anything I can help you with?” OMG, OMG, OMG. How do I get out of this situation? “Are you looking for something in particular?” Miraculously, I managed to swallow before speaking. “Um, no, I’m good. Just looking.” I assumed everyone knows that “just looking” is universal for I-don’t-need-assistance-but-thank-you-anyway. The 6’3” tuxedoed man – no joke – apparently missed the memo. “Let me show you something over here,” he said, nonchalantly guiding me over to a particular massager. “You’ve seen Sex and the City, right?” I had. In fact, I owned the whole series on DVD. “Well, then you must be somewhat familiar with The Rabbit, no?” He raised an eyebrow and grabbed for one of the plastic-sealed, bestselling products. This can’t be happening. “Charlotte became obsessed with this thing,” he continued. “It definitely comes highly recommended.” Where is she? She must’ve picked out an outfit by now. Where is she!? I scanned my surroundings. “Tell me. What’s your favorite color?” he continued, waving his massive hand at the array of colors on the wall. “Um, pink?” I mustered. “I’ll be right back!” he said, turning on his heel and disappearing toward the back of the room. I beelined away from the section – unsure where to hide but anywhere away from there would’ve sufficed. “There you are,” he said, finding me. Trapped again. Like a Rabbit. He fumbled four AA batteries into the pink double-eared contraption and turned it on. My only goal had been to blend in when I stepped foot into that store but now, here I was, standing next to a giant tuxedo-clad man who was holding a neon pink massager in the “on” position. Silent, it was not. Mortified, yes I was. I prayed for Cupid to shoot me out of my self-inflicted misery. An apparently (very) knowledgeable salesman, he proceeded to show me every speed this not-so-little doodad could do by way of demonstration. He instructed me to physically touch the thing with my finger to experience the various vibrations. It was a dancing machine; I desperately wished I could sit this one out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity-and-a-half later, the show came to close. Naturally, that’s when my friend popped out of nowhere, se*y stockings and a cleava*e-creating corset in hand, all ready to check out. She had no idea of the little x-rated exhibition I had just endured and wondered why my face was so flushed. “You OK?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously. “Mmm hmmm,” I said, replaying the craziness in my flustered mind. And then I cracked a smile – the kind of uncontrollable grin that stretches across your entire face and makes you beam from somewhere within. I realized then and there that I had taken a huge step outside of my comfort zone … and lived to (eventually) tell the tale. Happy V-Day to you, whatever the senti-sometimes-mental holiday may bring!