Mr. Pink

I don’t think a woman has lived until she has suffered through an embarrassing moment with a vibrator. Since I’m so bitter, I thought I'd share mine.

I got my first vibrator for my twentieth birthday. A group of about ten of my girlfriends and I went out to dinner, where I unwrapped a six-inch, glittery-pink, toy a.k.a. Mr. Pink. When I opened the package, a few birds fluttered out and a chord chimed in the background to mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship. We passed Mr. Pink around the table in awe as if he were too precious to set back down.

From that day on, Mr. Pink and I were inseparable. There was a rare occasion when I kept Mr. Pink locked up in my underwear drawer. Nightly Mr. Pink accompanied me in my bed and I was happy to share the space. He slept comfortably tucked inside one of the assorted pillowcases decorating my bed.

My affair with Mr. Pink was around the same time I met one of my ex boyfriends. One night he came over for the first time and I invited him into my room. At 20, there wasn’t much furniture for him to sit on, so I patted a spot offering him a seat on my bed. I had completely forgotten Mr. Pink was also lying in my bed. My new friend sat down on the bed and leaned back, his hand sliding underneath my pillow pile. That’s when it occurred to me and I panicked, but it was too late.

“Oh sh*t,” I said, almost simultaneously he responded back, with an “oh sh*t" expression. The next moment happened so quickly, but it felt like it was in slow motion.

“What is this,” he asked as he whipped the pillow from off the bed.

In doing so, Mr. Pink flew out of the pillowcase, across the room and went “smack” into the wall before going “thump” onto the floor. Mr. Pink rolled a few inches, stopped and looked back up at both of us as if to say, “ouch!”

The terrified look on my face was just as priceless as the amused expression on my potential lover’s face. Needless to say after that episode, Mr. Pink and I grew apart…