xxx Melody xxx

Of all the days to have a parking lot fender bender, the day of your husband's funeral should not be one of them. Who even stops for coffee on the way to their husband's funeral? Me, Melody Ryan; that's who.

I hear the unmistakable bang just as I pay for my coffee and my eyes, along with all the other eyes in the cafe, stare out the big sunny window into the newly birthed autumn season with its burnish glow. On any other day, I might stare in awe at the suburban skyline of trees, full with orange leaves that burst against the sharpest blue sky. But today, my awe is directed at the sight of the ugly blue rusted out hatchback parked in front of my car. How dare that nasty clown car steal its colour from the sky and taint it with its diseased flesh?

“My car!” I run out the door, forgetting my coffee. “My fucking car!” I trip along the bumpy pavement in my clumsy heels and almost roll an ankle.

“That’s your car?” The red faced angry man that jumps out of the little blue machine inflames my ire. He is the same arrogant jerk that had his greasy face buried in his phone and nearly toppled me over on my way into the coffee shop. I hated how the wind caught under his ugly brown and dated trench coat and, full of his stink, wafted up my nostrils as he growled and skirted past me, never stopping his incessant tapping on the glowing screen. That coat should have died in the nineteen eighties. The dude didn’t even have the decency to apologise for trampling me! Only an inattentive dummy like this could hit a parked car.

“Yes, that's my car! You hit my car! Do you even take your eyes off your phone for a minute?” My invisible hand plugs my nose as I step around him to kneel and inspect the damage done to my still-has-that-new-car-smell car.

“What are you talking about, lady?” He rakes a hand through his black greasy hair that sticks off in tangled clumps and uses his other hand to gesture wildly at the mess before us. “You parked over the line! I couldn’t even open my door, I had to climb in on the passenger side! Who parks like that? You’re supposed to park between the fucking lines!”

I caress my poor, dented bumper and scrape at the blue paint marks that marr its white purity. Embarrassment floods my cheeks with heat over the revelation of my terrible parking job. I hate confrontations and this one already has me shaking like a leaf. “You could have gone into the store and asked who owned the car,” I mutter as my fingernails surrender to their battle against the blue scuff mark and I all but jam my face into the dent to hide myself.

Our exchange falls silent and my nerves calm while I listen to the drone of traffic on the steady street and feel the lingering heat of the September sun as it warms the back of my black funeral dress. During this time of year, there is such a noticeable difference between sun and shade, and in the latter I could have worn mittens.

“Shit lady, I'm sorry. You're right, that was stupid of me.” The sun must have thawed my foe too because the warmth of his firm hand when it touches my shoulder brings with it a mournful comfort, as though my husband Nate were reaching down from heaven to feel me one final time. “Hey, get up off the ground. You're dressed too nicely to be crawling around on asphalt. Give me your phone and I will punch in my number. I'll pay for the car repairs.”

I clasp my husband’s ethereal hand and the stranger helps me to my shaky feet. He grips my shoulders and golden eyes squint down on me with genuine concern. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I sniffle and nod, feeling my husband more strongly. I root into my purse to pull out my phone which I thoughtlessly hand to him while I dab a tissue under my eyes in an attempt to save my makeup. I already had to reapply it twice this morning before I left home.

He takes my phone and I swallow Nate’s brief presence when the man’s hands cease to touch me. A few button clicks later, a chime pings and the stranger takes a phone out of his pocket. “Legit,” he says as he returns my phone and shows me his screen displaying a text message received from my number, ‘Hi Ash.’

“Ash?” I ask.

“Yeah, that's my name.” Ash drops his head bashfully and smiles. “And what name do I use to add you to my contacts?”

I type into my phone and Ash's phone pings again.

“Hi Melody,” he reads and smiles wider, tilting his head lower and to the side, and almost bending forward to hide himself.

His smile is nice and his teeth are clean and it looks very out of place on the rest of him which is grungy and in need of a shower and a shave.

“Hey, you went into a coffee shop and came out with nothing. Let me buy you a coffee, or whatever you were getting,” Ash insists as he tucks his phone away.

A quick glance into Ash's car reveals blankets and clothes strewn about the back seat and empty food containers littering the front and my immediate assumption is that he lives in that little car. All of a sudden all the worst possible scenarios are rushing through my sheltered small town mind; convict, alcoholic, drug addict, and my flight responses kick into high gear.

“I already have my order paid for, I just need to go back and pick it up.” I thumb towards the store and awkwardly back up, but he follows me along, seemingly oblivious to my ‘get the fuck away from me’ signlanguage. He is adamant that he must buy me something and I start mentally diagnosing him with some type of mood disorder. Thinking it best to avoid a possible emotional outburst that might turn dangerous, I agree to sit for a bowl of soup. It is almost lunch time and my husband’s funeral doesn't begin for another fifteen minutes. I have loads of time for soup.

We sit at a table in front of the window with a perfect view of our beat up cars. I watch Ash slowly stir the spoon in his soup and he seems to have less of an appetite than me. As we both quietly watch our meals turn cold I wonder what is the point of this, does he also have somewhere he does not want to be today?

Ash breaks the silence. “Where are you headed to today, Melody? Your dress is quite formal for a matinee.” I follow his downcast eyes that watch his thumb and fingers fold an empty paper wrapper of table salt. I catch a glimmer of light reflecting off a timepiece on his wrist under his ratty coat and it seems as misplaced as his sparkling teeth and his golden eyes. Maybe he is just in need of some all over polishing to make the rest of him shine.

His fingers go still and I look up from my thoughtful trance. His lips form a closed mouth half grin and those damn golden eyes crinkle at the corners as he waits amusedly for my reply.

Crimson is a colour you can really feel and it cannot be controlled, if it wants to come it just rushes out and screams for everybody to look at it. It catches you off guard and makes you forget yourself and ties up your tongue and infects you with a caveman brain. “Uhhhh…”

Ash’s hand covers his mouth and he blurts a big breath of the singular vowel ‘HA’. Maybe he also has caveman brain, but then he reiterates his question.

I catch the bullet train back to reality. “I’m going to a funeral.” I stare blankly into his eyes as I pat the mound of freshly turned dirt with the back of my shovel as the thing buried beneath it threatens to break through the surface.

The shining candle in Ash’s eyes flickers out. “I am sorry to hear. A loved one? Mother? Father?”

“Husband.” I clear my squeaky throat and I do not blink. Ash's face takes on a deformed roundness as the zombie's hand breaks through the hard packed soil and my eyes begin to pool. “Fuck, my makeup.” I dab under my eyes with a napkin. “I already did it twice this morning; my makeup.” I laugh hopelessly and apologise.

Ash is far away, as I begin to drown, and I don't hear much of his condolences. I've heard so many condolences that I don't want to hear them anymore. Will anybody ever look at me the same again? Will their orbs always reflect sadness?

“I guess I did you a favour by hitting your car today.” His comment catches me off guard and my weeping is cured like a fright to hic-ups.

“What?” I ask.

“This is what you want right? An excuse to be late? Well, that blue scuff on your clean white bumper is a pretty damn good excuse.”

“Excuse me!” I try to sound angry, but I am too relieved that somebody in this universe gets me and I laugh loudly. “Am I a terrible person?”

Ash holds up his hands. “The last thing I or anybody else would ever want to do is judge a grieving widow. We all have our ways of coping with death and there is no right or wrong way about it.”

My sigh is refreshing and I am suddenly infected with a bout of verbal diarrhea as I spill too much of my life to a stranger I just met. “...and then last night, my son uploaded the wrong file to the picture slideshow and everybody there saw Nate’s and my naughty photos! The images were up there on a big old screen for two hours before I saw what was on display and nobody at the funeral home said a word about it the entire time! One minute I see our children blowing out candles on a birthday cake, and the next minute I’m looking at the magic that brought those two kids into this world!”

Ash and I are in knots laughing as I recount the awkward hugs and blushing faces that greeted me during the evening wake hours. I begin snorting when my laughs get too intense and that sends Ash overboard as he collapses and hides his beet red face in his arms on the table.

“Why… why…” I am laughing so much that I can barely breathe. “...why are you hiding your face, Ash?”

“I didn't know I was.” His laughter quiets and his watery eyes twinkle as he rights himself in his chair.

“You are, you do. Whenever you smile, you’re sticking a hand or an arm over yourself.”

“Old habits, I guess. Growing up, I always hid my crooked teeth.”

“What, no way! Your teeth are beautiful!”

“Braces fixed them.” Ash grins wide, showing the only piece of him that currently looks clean. “Million dollar smile.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“At some point in your life you could afford braces, but now you live in your car-”

“Who said I am living in a car?” Ash reddens and that September sunshine doesn't reach his mood indoors.

“I mean, I saw your stuff in the back of your car and your”-I gesture to his person-“unclean.”

“You should not make such crude assumptions about people.” Ash's tone darkens and his hands hit the table hard, sending me shivering along with the spoons in the soup bowls, as he rises to his feet and glares disgustedly down on me.

My messed up mind is only swallowing random pieces of information and right now it notices that his hands are in fact very clean and his nails are perfectly filed with not a hangnail to be seen.

“Call me with the bill when you get your car fixed.” Ash leaves the cafe, probably in a worse mood than he was in when he first came here.

I leave after his car peels onto the road. My mood is also no better after our brief and hopeful plot to outwit time, and I am twenty minutes late for Nate's funeral.

xxx

That happened one year ago. Every day I visit Nate’s grave and sit in my car and remember that stupid car accident when I tried to be anywhere but here and wasted the morning with a stranger named Ash. The ceremony waited for me though and I didn’t miss a thing.

I turn off the ignition and stare out the car window. The sky is dull and its greyness bleeds to the earth, sucking the green from the trees and making the grass fall flat. I hate coming here, yet no matter the weather, no matter my health, no matter my schedule, I always find time as I fail to uphold the vow ‘until death do us part’.

xxx Ash xxx

The weather today really sucks for moving. My best friend, Blair, is already gone ahead in the pick-up truck, which his boyfriend was so kind to lend us, and I throw the last few smaller boxes into the back seat of my rusted out hatchback and drive to my new home.

I am grateful Blair gave me a room for the last year while I picked up the pieces after my wife unexpectedly filed for a divorce. I know for those first few rocky months I was a terrible house guest and I will forever be in debt to Blair.

I don't think I would be so fortunate today if it weren't for a freak encounter with a woman at that small corner cafe. If I didn't have a head crushing hangover, I probably never would have gone to the place. I laugh inwardly as I recall the miserably sunny September day when I creamed her car and bought her lunch. She thought I was homeless and said I was ‘unclean’. She really pissed me off…

...Homeless, she thinks I am homeless! I storm out of the coffee shop and slam my car door after I get in. You truly should not judge a book by its cover because she looked like a fairytale princess with those innocent brown eyes and midnight curls, but she was the evil witch all along! I look at her fancy new car and her shitty park job and I am proud of the damage I caused it and I want to take a baseball bat to it and knock it around some more. After the accident, I didn't even bother inspecting the damage done to my old car; it has been two fill ups away from the junkyard for a while now.

I pull onto the road and the rearview mirror shines a glaring light on the mess of clothes and blankets in my backseat. Those were the gifts waiting on my lawn last night after a long shift of work. The locks were changed on the house and Emily, my wife of twenty-one years, would not let me in.

That stranger, Melody, is right; I am homeless and I did spend the night in my car. There are not many places a man filled with this much shame wants to show his face. Before lunch, I was ready to jump off a ledge into the ocean, but now I have a change of heart and I am on my way to see my best friend, Blair. I should have gone to him last night, or at least called him. Instead, I spent sixty bucks on liquor and slept in my car.

I park in Blair’s driveway and text my arrival. When I approach the door, he is already opening it.

“Ash.” He takes me into his delicate, thin arms and chastises me for not coming to him last night. “Are you finally ready to find yourself a hunky bear to love? I tell you, he would let you know well in advance if you were doing something wrong. None of this shady changing the locks and blocking your number bullshit would come from a hot and hunky bear.” Blair winks, drags me down the hallway, and throws me into the bathroom with a rough shove. “Clean yourself up and then tell me all about what the fuck happened. From now on, whenever I call Emily a bitch; it is not a compliment!” His trailing voice marks the growing distance as he leaves me to tend to my hygiene.

Once clean, I step out of the bathroom and find Blair in the kitchen with his boyfriend, Thomas.

“Hey, Tom,” I say.

“Ash,” he greets me gruffly. Tom is Blair's ‘hunky bear’. He is a great guy once you get to know him; he is just really hard to get to know. Tom is big and hard and rarely says a word, but when Tom does speak you damn well better listen to his sage advice. Tom works in construction and is currently overseeing a multi billion dollar residential development. You don't see many men wearing steel-toed boots and a Rolex at the same time, but Tom is one of those fortunate fellows. Tom and Blair are polar opposites and they are the most solid couple I know.

“Come. Sit. Tell us all about it.” Blair pulls out a chair and pats the seat while he lays a huge bowl piled with layers of nachos in the centre of the round, glass table. Tom follows behind with three bottles of beer that he lays in each of our places.

I sit and pop open the beer, taking a few swigs before I pull out a handful of nachos from the bowl. Threads of hot cheese stretch across the void and chunks of salsa fall onto the clean tabletop.

“Oh sweet lord, the mess!” Blair leaves and returns with plates and napkins.

Tom quietly chuckles and spins the platinum ring on his wedding finger; it's not a wedding band, but it is the best Blair could give him - the ring and his word.

I delve into the mystery of last night. “...it was past eight o'clock when I finished work and I came home to a mess of my clothes strewn all over the lawn. My socks and underwear hung from trees and shrubs. She was nice enough to toss out a pillow and blanket too, though by the time I got home to it, it was all damp from laying out. I slept in the back seat of my car last night. There is no money in our bank account. I don't know what I did to deserve this.”

Eyes dance back and forth in silent conversation and I am surprised to hear Tom speak first, “I will get you an appointment with my lawyers, you definitely need legal advice. In the meantime, I am sure Blair agrees that you can stay with us until you get back on your feet.”

Blair disgustedly eyes the mess on the table in front of me and points his finger at it. “There will be none of that dirtbaggery happening under my roof either.”

I apologise and wipe the cheese and salsa with a paper towel, creating an ugly streak on the glass, and dropping salsa chunks to the white marble floor. Meanwhile, Blair is having a panic attack in his seat. “It's okay, I got it,” I assure him as I glide out my chair, pushing the salsa under its foot.

“You're killing me, Ash!” Blair squeezes his eyes shut and chews on his nails. “Tom, he hasn't even been here for an hour yet! Your wife put up with this for twenty-one years? I'd lock you out too!”

That hurt.

I say nothing as I stand to leave. I look at my hands pressing on the table and a sense of deja vu washes over me. I am frozen like this, looking down at my knuckles, and clenching my jaw. Blair apologetically whispers my name and acknowledges he crossed a line. His hand rests on mine closest to him and I quickly bring my other hand up to catch my tears. “I don't fucking know what I did wrong,” I say...

…One year later and I still don't know when the bottom fell out of my marriage. Emily quickly found a new boyfriend and I speculate that she may have been cheating on me, but in the little communication we had since, she neither confirmed nor denied it.

Regardless of her reasons for throwing my clothes out the window that September night, the dust has settled and I am moving on with my life. I have a new job in a new town (the same town I stumbled into one year ago) and today I am moving into my new house only a few streets away from my best friend.

I squeeze my car into the small driveway next to Tom's big truck and behold my humble little bungalow. It's a simple slab on grade with two bedrooms and an open concept living space. Designed by hunky bear's architects, the place is beautifully spacious for its small footprint and not a corner is wasted.

Blair is waiting on the step and grinning ear to ear like a proud mother at her son's kindergarten graduation. “Open her up already!” he says and jostles me while I key in the code, blocking it from his nosy eyes. The last person I want with a code to my house is Blair. I love him, but he has zero boundaries when it comes to privacy. That is one thing I will not miss after living with him for a year.

“I am home!” I drop the small box I carried into the house and hug Blair. “I am actually home!” A final bittersweet cocktail of emotions set themselves free and Blair sponges it all up reminding me that he is here for me always, only a phone call away, hell or high water; if I need him, he will be here.

xxx Melody xxx

“...Mom!” Cameron's loud knock startles me from a daydream. “Are you almost done? I want to take a shower!”

“Use the other bathroom!”

“But Mommm, yours has better showerheads.”

I open the bathroom door. “You better clean it when you are done.”

“I always do.” He stoops and plants a kiss on my furrowed brow. The definition of clean differs greatly for an eighteen year old boy and a forty-one year old woman.

I search the house for my phone and find it stone dead on the coffee table. It's almost Nine o'clock and that is when Winnie and I call each other every night.

Winnie is my rock and the one good friend that stuck with me through it all after my husband passed away. I haven't seen Winnie in over six months. She is a photographer and recently got herself a big contract documenting a new rock band on their European tour. They are from Ireland, Dusty something-or-other. They came here for a gig and Winnie caught their attention and now she is making a huge breakthrough and has two more upcoming contracts; one with another band and one on a movie set. I am super happy for her, but I miss her a lot.

I rummage through the junk drawer in search of a charging cord and come up empty so I swipe Cameron's phone off the wireless charger, it's almost full, and set mine to charge while I steal his phone to call Winnie.

I try not to be nosy, but a notification pops in as soon as I turn on the screen. “PinkPetals posted a new pic. Who is PinkPetals?” I squint at the tiny thumbnail on Cameron's phone and try to identify the image. I tap the thumbnail and a full screen picture of female genitalia pops up. “Oh shit!” I throw the phone on the sofa and it lands screen up and this vagina is staring at me and I cannot stop staring at it. My ears are burning, my palms are sweating, and my gut is churning. What a shock to the system; your little boy is a man and he… “Ulrkk.” I gag for a minute and wonder if I even want to touch the phone to pick it up and put it back to where I stole it from.

I pull my sleeves over my hands and execute the daunting task. “Oh no, oh no; it's on again!” The phone senses my fumbling fingers beneath my thin sleeves and now an entire page of vaginas are staring at me and it's scrolling with a mind of its own, showing me all different sizes, shapes, and colours I never would have imagined. I live a sheltered life and my vagina is the only one I have ever seen and this is blowing my mind as they flurry before my eyes like unique snowflakes; no two looking exactly alike. Even stretched out old lady vaginas bask in the glory of being loved by thousands. “Power to you, girl!” In my fumbling I ‘like’ her post. “Oops!”

“Mom, have you seen my phone?”

I jump out of my skin and almost drop Cameron's phone. “Cameron!” He stands before me with a bath towel wrapped around his waist. I scramble to close the app and I think I accidentally ‘like’ another photo. “Oh, ahh, I borrowed it to call Winnie, mine's dead.”

Cameron eyes me strangely as I hand him his phone. “You're not going to call her?” he asks.

“Mine probably has enough charge now. Thanks anyway.”

Cameron gives me a final curious look before he leaves the room with his phone.

When I am certain he is out of earshot, I shudder and wipe my hands on my pants. “Ewww, gross, gross, gross!” File that moment under things to never speak of.

My phone rings on its charger and a woman with long wavy brown hair donning a straw hat and large purple sunglasses lights up the screen. “Thank God, Winnie! I am so relieved to hear from you.”

“Aww, are you doing okay? I know it's the one year anniversary; you holdin’ up good?”

“Yes, I am. The weather sucks, but I visited him anyway; I always do. But that's not it.”

“What's got you all in a ruffle then?”

“It's Cameron,” I whisper, “I found girls on his phone.”

“Darlin’ I can't hear ya.”

“I can't speak any louder. And why are you talking like that?” I ask.

“I'm practising my accent. I might get a small line in that movie gig.”

“Well, keep practising because right now you sound half Texan and half Australian.”

Winnie laughs, “Oh no! Maybe I better stay behind the cameras. Listen, I need a little favour.”

Winnie's favours are never little. I ask her the details and she sends me on an errand to the airport to pick up a friend of Mike's (Mike is the lead singer of Dusty… whoever they're called). I agree to the task which will pay me fifty bucks. That's almost enough to cover the cost of gas to get me to the city and back. I don't care about the fifty bucks. I care about time and the looming deadline on my current manuscript. I have four months to turn something over to my publisher and so far I have written nothing.

At the airport I wait outside the arrivals door in my car and a scrawny guy hidden under a hoodie walks out and approaches my car. He waves at me and I get out to open the trunk for his luggage; a pink Swiss Gear hard top on rollers.

“Carson?” I ask as he approaches and he nods and gives a thumbs up. I can't help but notice the long fingernail on his thumb matches the colour of his luggage. I fold my arms and look hard at the stranger.

After he puts his bag in the trunk, I wack him hard in the tit and she screams, “Fuck, Melody!”

“You little bitch!” I cry and wrap my arms around Winnie and curse her more and kiss her face all over. “I can't believe you're home!”

“You've got me until January, then I am off to California.”

“All the time in the world isn't enough,” I say, reluctant to let her go so we can get in the car.

“So what happened to Cameron?” Winnie asks as she buckles up.

I initially forget what she is talking about.

“On the phone, you were in a panic about Cameron.”

“Oh yes. My phone died and Cameron was in the shower so I borrowed his to call you-”

“Uh oh!” Winnie shifts and tsk-tsks already knowing this will be bad.

I nod. “Yeah, I saw naked girl parts.”

I am glad we never stopped for coffee because Winnie spit her mouthful of water across the car dash and windshield. “What did you expect to see on an eighteen year old’s phone, Melody?”

“I know, I know. But, Winnie, do you know this site, or app, or whatever it is, is full of pictures of vajayjays. And I'm talking big ones and small ones and old ones and hairy ones.”

Winnie is laughing hard and it takes her a moment to gather her composure. “What rock have you been living under, Melody? The internet was made to spread kink all over the world.”

“But it's all in your face and free! I thought that stuff was buried deep and cost money?”

“Girl, you don't want to know the buried deep stuff. You can see pussy and cock, even sex and masturbation, everywhere.”

I am speechless and my face burns to no end. My husband and I had been a couple since we were teenagers and I had no reasons to immerse myself in those things. I was never lonely and we were not adventurous. We were content together and we satisfied each other.

“You okay, Melody?” Winnie breaks the silence.

“It has always only ever been Nate, you know?”

“I know, sweetheart.” She sympathetically rubs my leg.

“Like, tonight was the first time I ever saw another vagina! My husband's penis is the only one of them I ever saw too! Winnie, I'm forty-one years old and my sex life is over.”

“Hey now, don't be like that. You are a beautiful woman and when you are ready to put yourself out there, you will have your pick of men vying for your love.”

“I don't even know how, Winnie, I don't even know where to begin…”

“I know where! Turn off at this exit, we are going shopping!”

I follow Winnie's directions that lead us to the parking lot of a sex shop. Winnie jumps out of the car before I can protest and I slide down my window and peek my head outside, calling in a hissed whisper for Winnie to come back, but my efforts fall flat in the dark night. I curse under my breath and cross the parking lot, entering the doors that swallowed my best friend.

“Fuck, Winnie, where are you?” I freeze inside the doors, causing them to continually sing their welcoming chime as they grind open and closed. The bright lights show no forgiveness as they reveal all things lewd and debauched. Floor to ceiling shelves of… things, some rather accurately reproduced, and sensual music melded with the sounds of whips and groans and deep voices.

The mercury rises from my feet, briefly floats in my chest, and finally blows out the top when a store clerk approaches me with a bright smile framed by red lips. She is dressed sexy, but classy, with a knee length black pencil dress that reveals the right amount of cleavage and very high heels enhance her nylon calves. My face is a red hot inferno of embarrassment and all the moisture evaporates from my mouth and sweats out through my pores.

“Can I help you with anything?” the clerk asks as she stealthily guides me away from the chiming doorway. “What’s your pleasure? We have it all and if we don't, we will find it for you.” The clerk guides me down an aisle full of phallic objects and eyes me quietly. “You look lost, my dear.”

I blink my dried out eyes. “I am lost. I followed my friend in here and I lost her. I'm not shopping; this stuff isn't me.”

“Well, it's never too late to make it you!” The clerk’s red lips snake into a wide grin and her seductive eyes wink with a secret knowledge that piques my curiosity. Her confidence is so powerful and she seems unbreakable. I wonder if she posts pictures of her lady parts online. I squeeze shut my eyes that shamelessly rake themselves down the length of her perfectly tight body.

“I just want to find-”

“Melody, there you are!” Winnie joins us in the aisle. “I got carried away in this fun place! Your stock has gotten much bigger since I was last here,” she compliments the clerk.

“Yes, we are keen to expand and fill every niche! I am trying to figure out your timid friend here. I am thinking of something that’ll buzz on up into her and do all the hard work so she can lay back and enjoy the ride.” She presents a box containing the image of an oddly shaped bee themed object.

“Yes!” Winnie grabs the box. “Melody, this one is perfect for you; outside and in! And get one of these too.” She picks up a purple penis packaged in a clear cellophane bag. It has a massive suction cup at the base. “You can never go wrong with a good old fashioned dildo.” Winnie thoughtfully eyes the lengthy purple dick as she wobbles it back and forth. “Good for core exercise too.”

I am too mortified to do or say anything and I follow the two women who seem to know best. At the cash register, I swipe my visa for an obscene transaction and carry my guilty burden out to the car.

“I will never forgive you for this, Winnie.”

“You will thank me for it, darlin’.”