Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or neighbors who are raising feral cats.
Today's topic: My scary tool.
I swear, the song going through my head all week is “If you like pina coladas, and gettin’ caught in the rain….”. I need a Me-cation. (When I typed that, I realized it looked like “medication”, which I could also probably use.) This is the view from my desk:
The map is there so I can chart where my distributors are located. But instead, I find myself gazing at it and thinking, “I’d really like a long weekend in Santa Fe. Or Savannah, Georgia. Or Napa Valley….” I want to get on an airplane, fly fly away, bring the two big ass books I’m reading (Keith Richards’ “Life”, and the recent biography of Grant Wood), sit in a hammock on the beach and drink champagne or an extremely cold white wine or a very icy salty margarita, and chill out for a few days. Current Husband optional, I’d love to have him if he can just lie quietly on the beach next to me and accompany me to dinner and be available for nocturnal activities. (PERSONAL NOTE TO CH: I know you are reading this. Do you see that I am actually instigating nocturnal activities away from home? Just like back in my slutty days!) Poor CH. What do I need to do to bring back the magic?
I’m checking e-mail today, and I’m waiting for a message from someone I’m interviewing for an article, so I check junk mail just in case it was filtered. You can find out a lot about yourself if you check your junk e-mail once a month – the Internet really KNOWS me. There are multiple messages from:
• Restaurants announcing I’ve won a week of free meals.
• Airlines announcing I’ve won tickets to tropical destinations.
• Free shipping on American Girl products (possible I got on that list during my night of drunken Jen Lancaster stalking.)
• Virus protection.
• Dating services.
• Messages from Facebook, even though I’ve specifically gone into my account on FB and checked the “Do Not Send to my E-Mail Account” button.
• Travel with my sorority, of which I haven’t actually been an active member in since 1991.
• Ways to enlarge my tool.
Apparently, my tool is not very large, which explains a LOT. The most informative of these e-mails was the one whose subject was “Promo Enlargement”, and the message was “Scare people with your tool today.” I would love nothing more than to scare people with my tool. The website has “growinpants” in the address, but I’m thinking why hide my light under a bushel? No. I’m gonna let it shine. Like the finest chia pet, my enlarged tool should be available to be watched, because it’s interesting in its unpredictability.
Oh Internet, you’ve found the way
to perk up my mundane existence!
This weekend, I’m accompanying my kids to the local hardware store to sell raffle tickets for their school fundraiser. What better place to let out my new gigantic scary tool? I see new computers for the entire school, because there are lots of guys who will pay for the chance to see what would normally be growing in my pants. Tools and hardware stores go together like cats and stirrups.
Sunday the kids have a piano recital at the local retirement home. Somewhere between “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” and “The Theme From Hogwarts”, I’m going to whip out my enlarged scary tool, because old people get bored in those homes, and they probably haven’t seen a good set of tools in a long time. I ask you, what octogenarian doesn’t like a good scare?
Tuesday is Youngest Daughter’s birthday, and her birthday party might be a good place to scare people with my tool. Those little girls have been sheltered for too long. See your future, princesses. It’s scary!
Finally, I think a date night with CH might be a good place to unleash my large scary beast. We’re together. We’re in love. There’s innuendo, and then playfulness, and then minor romping, and then POW! MY SCARY TOOL IS REVEALED! CH screams like a little girl and curls up into a ball in the corner of the room, weeping.
And that, people, is how Golden Anniversaries happen.
“If you’re not into yoga, but you’re into champagne….”