I’m a funny Valentine. I don’t drink, I’m not into expensive restaurants and rich food, and I’m such an introvert that I’d rather stay home, anyway. Nor do I like extravagant gifts . . . but I do like gifts that demonstrate that the boyfriend appreciates the wonder of me, an all-encompassing phrase we began using a decade or two ago to describe the cheap teetotaling introvert that I am.
All of this wonderfulness, according to the boyfriend, makes me hard to buy for. But this year, I made it easy for him.
“Hey, baby?” I said the other day. “I know what I want for Valentine's Day.”
“Oh, good! Tell me, because you’re wonderful, but you’re hard to buy for.”
The preceding line of dialogue may have been paraphrased, but my reply is verbatim:
“The sixteenth edition of the Chicago Manual of Style.”
Yep. Ply me with style and usage. Don’t bother with flowers and chocolates and sheer lingerie with weird feathers.
Anyway, at the moment I am sufficiently stocked with weird feathers. A couple of months ago, I participated in a white-elephant gift exchange and received an item from the Kama Sutra Company’s line of products for lovers, which includes oils, gels, potions, balms (doesn’t that sound nice?), body paint, and candles—all of which have sexy-time potential and none of which I received. I also did not receive Intimate Caress Shave Crème, which I swear by all that is holy I read as Intimate Crevasse Shave Crème when I spotted it on the company’s website.
But I did get some weird feathers in the form of a feather applicator with an accompanying satin pouch of Sweet Honeysuckle Honey Dust, which is essentially bath powder. Sex should be slippery, a condition most of the company’s other products facilitate. But, yeah . . . powder. Interesting choice for a love aid. If being bone dry isn’t enough of a turn-off, a whiff of this stuff should derail your desire nicely. After you stop sneezing, you will realize it doesn’t smell like honey or honeysuckle. It does live up to the dust part of its name, because it smells as dusty as a powdery old lady. Good luck getting that image out of your head.
Meanwhile, I await accusations of being ageist or misogynistic, but I am getting older and am, in fact, a woman, so, you know, there’s that.
Listen, what consenting adults do privately is absolutely no one’s business but that of the parties involved, but it’s not going to be much of a party if you break out the honey dust. Even the feather applicator won’t be able to salvage the situation.
On the other hand, if you want to crack open a brand-new Chicago Manual of Style and talk usage to me . . . well, let’s just say someone’s liable to break a hip. But we’ll sure have fun doing it.
And that’s the wonder of me, baby.