Secret Agent (Wo)Man

Warning this post might not be suitable for all readers...especially my Mom and Dad...

I have made it a point not to blog about the people I know unless they are forewarned and have given me the two thumbs up... or the middle finger (whichever the case may be).  So I asked Friend X if I could tell this story and she said it was OK as long as I left out any details that would lead back to her. Yeah whatever, I am totally ratting her out...

Friend X and I were at lunch a few months back.  Lunch usually consists of a little food and a lot more margarita.  We have it perfected to a nice ratio of food-to-margarita, but have decided to keep working on it for purely scientific reasons.  Since our lunches happen to involve some form of super-secret girl talk we just happen to be talking about Battery-Operated-Boyfriends or BOBs as they are so lovingly referred to in girl circles everywhere.

So friend X wants to get one, but is currently in a long time type relationship (married, living with, shacking, sleeping over every weekend... one of those) and doesn't want the significant other (SO) to know she has it.  Note:  Girls - they know.  It's like their porno collection.  We know about it.  We even know where they hide it.  Trust me, they know all about BOB.  

So, this is where the boundaries of friendship really gets tested.  You KNOW you are someone's BFF when you will go into the porn store and buy your friend a BOB so that she does not have to be seen in public doing it. But wait!!! It gets even better.

Off to the porn store I go.  Into the porn store I go.  I stand in front of the BIGGEST WALL OF BOBS I have ever seen.  (Insert 2001: A Space Odyssey music here.) Did you know that BOBs come in more choices than the Regularly-Operated-Boyfriends????  And more colors. And more sizes. This is not a decision I was going to make because there is no way on GAWD's green earth that I was going to return it if I made the wrong choice.  So I call friend X.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  OMG!  Holy Crap!  Have you seen this selection?  Ok, what do you want?  Big?  Small? Pink?  Purple?  Some thing with one speed?  Wait, this one here says it has three speeds - slow, medium and who the f*ck needs a man? (giggles) Which one do you want?

Friend X:  UH, I don't know.  Does your phone have a camera?

(OMG!!!! Do YOU see where this is heading, because I totally didn't!!)

Me: Yeah.

Friend X:  OK, take a picture of them and then send it to me.

Me: ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME??!?!?!?!  I am in a porn store! On SUNDAY!! I am already going to languish in at least one circle of hell for this! I am NOT taking a picture of the Great Wall of Vibrators and sending it over my phone!!!

The clerk at the store is now looking at me very intently and starting to wonder what kind of whack job she has in her store. After I lower my voice, friend X and I discuss the matter at hand and she finally decides on one. I make the purchase.  And by the way guys, BOBs are more expensive than a long night at the strip club! 

Now comes the hand off.  Friend X wants her new BOB like right now, but SO is at home.  To get him out of the house she sends him on a mindless errand that she knows he will take forever and a day to do (and I know he will F-up and have to call her 20 times to get right and will still bring back the wrong thing, but that's not the point).  In the mean time, I am to drive BOB over to her house and transfer custody.  Did I mention I had to stop and get batteries for BOB?  Yeah, I hold so many girlfriend credits right now, she will be owing me into 2015.

Insert Mission Impossible theme here

I get to her house and hand over BOB. To which she immediately turns and runs towards the back of the house. OMG KITTENS!!!  I swear to all that is Holy, I thought she was going back there to give BOB a test run!!  I start screaming like a mad-woman & telling her get her @$$ back into the living room RIGHT NOW!!  (I can't even begin to tell you how many Ho-Hos and xanaxs I was thinking I was going to need to get over this entire experience. Trust me, they don't make enough to cover this one.)  Friend X comes back with the non-discript-brown-paper-winno-beer-bottle-bag that BOB was wrapped in and quickly shoves it into my chest. So, now I am in charge of getting ride of the evidence as well.  Damn, do I have to do everything!?!?  (If she had asked me how to use it I was going to pimp slap her like a $2 hooker owing me change!)  I walked out the door and promptly deposited BOB's cover in the neighbor's trash can. Yeah, let them figure that one out. (Good thing Spike TV plays back to back CSI episodes and I am now an expert on all things evidence.)  

It has been a couple of months since the BOB incident and neither one of us has really spoken about it. Which is good since I don't think I could handle anything else without forever crossing the TMI barrier.  I do however intend to bring this incident up should I ever:

a) need to be bailed out of jail at 3 am, on a rainy middle of the work week night

b) need a pet-sitter for six months while I am in some other country and can't be reached

c) get really slossed at the next Chicka lunch

After all that, there really isn't a good way to end this post except to say "And They All Lived Happily Ever After".  And that I now have a buy-one-get-one-free card at the porn store that I have no intention of redeeming. And that even I am a little "shocked" that I posted this... (it may not stay up for long).