It's All In The Packaging

The recycling bin; window to the soul, or at least to a kinky girl's bedroom.

A few weeks ago the motor on my favorite vibrator died. Those who have a trusty vibe know this is a big deal. It's hard to find the vibrator that's just right for you. Not all vibes are created equal, that's a fact. And every woman wants something different from their vibe.

Personally, most days I'm not breaking out the Hitachi. That's like sending in a lumberjack to weed out your flower garden. Talk about overkill.

 

Although...

Also, allergic reactions must always be taken into consideration. Like many women, I have sensitive bits. Finding materials that are compatible with your lady is difficult, not to mention expensive. A good, hypoallergenic vibe can cost up to $300, and it's not like you can return the thing if it doesn't work out the way you were hoping.

Quite honestly some brilliant vibe inventor is making bank right now, and they still haven't invented a vibrating glass piece.

Note to self; ideas for Kickstarter

 

Glass Vibrator

But I digress. 

On my quest for Mr. Right Vibe I ended up going a little crazy and bought a plethora of new toys and naughty aides. Who doesn't add an item or five to the cart just to get free shipping?

When my box finally came in the other day I snatched it off my front porch, looking left and right down the block, like I'd spy some nosy old lady with binoculars trying to ascertain what exactly I was getting. I took it directly to my room and gleefully tore it open. After evaluating my inventory and liberating my items from their packaging, I realized something.

I had to get rid of all the hard plastic phallic shaped wrappers and individual boxes with labels like ASSistant, G-Spot Finder, and Black Leather Pussy Slapper.

I looked at my pile of packaging and judged myself a little. There was just so much of it at one time. Was I opening a sex shop? Who needs that many sexual accoutrements? What kind of depraved beast was I?!

The panic was setting in along with a bit of buyers remorse. It's not like I was going to go hog wild and use all this stuff at the same time...well, maybe...

 

Fingers crossed

I talked myself down and was again happy with all my purchases. For the most part, that is. The ASSistant was as big as my head. It looked considerably smaller in the pictures. No way that thing is ASSisting my anything. It's languishing in my underwear draw because I just don't know where to store it.

Back to the point, I still had to get rid of all the packaging. I had a few options.

1) I could put all this through the shredder before dumping, making my recycling collectors hate me. You can't bag your recyclables here.

2) I could hefty bag it and send it to the city dump, something that my eco-friendly heart was not in favor of.

3) I could wait until night fall and dump it in my neighbor's recycling bin. Then when the trash collectors gave my nice old lady neighbor knowing looks, she'd just smile and wave. Clueless.

4) I could shove it all under my bed until someone in my house--probably my pre-tween--found it. Resulting in future therapy costs and being blamed for all sorts of repressions.

5) Or I could woman up, put it all in the recycle bin and hope this week wasn't the week my bin gets knocked over, dumping out empty naughty packaging all over the alley. Then probably blowing into my neighbors' yard for them to pick up. All dirty trails of scandalous trash leading directly to the spilled bin at my fence.

I did the right thing. I womaned up and recycled.

Heart racing up a storm, I walked to my back gate. Of course the second I began dumping the proof of my depravity a couple walking their dog started in my direction and my nice lady neighbor--the one I was going to pin my degeneracy on--brought out her trash.

I believe this was the universe making me sweat it for contemplating throwing my neighbor under the naughty bus. I was sure something was going to go wrong. Like instead of having toilet paper on my shoe I'd have phallic wrap trailing behind me. I had to fight looking down at myself in my hyper paranoid state. Rationally I knew I didn't have a rubber dick hanging out of my pocket.

Irrational me might as well of had a fake dong glued to her forehead in a unfortunate parody of a unicorn.

It was a huge relief when it was done and nothing spilled out at my neighbor's sandal clad feet. If she or the dog walking couple noticed any of the packaging being quickly disposed of, they hid it well. Not a snicker was uttered.

Now,  just one more week until the recyclables are actually picked up.

**Ever have a sex toy snafu? Kids at Mommy Meet Up wander out of the hostess's room playing swords with vibrators? I've been there. Feel free to share!!