All the Magic. All the stars.

I didn’t buy it, but last night at the adult boutique, I tried the Hitachi Magic Wand — on my achy shoulders, not on my lady bits. I’ve had someone else use it during sex and loved it, but I can’t be trusted to operate that thing. I’m clumsy, I’d end up in the hospital. But it’s delightful in both places.

Also, last night I learned that orgasm denial is a thing, and I wish I weren’t into it, but I totally am. I wish the guy who introduced me to it in 2013 had warned me, because I almost kicked him in the face, but it was lovely at the end, and was achieved via the Magic Wand. All the stars for that thing.

I am why I cannot have nice things.

Shopping for dishes and realizing I will never be a fine china type. $140 per 5-piece place setting? Oh, OK. I’ll get right on that, Kate Spade. See also: blow me. 

I need to buy dishes because I’m a giant, spazzy klutz and I’ve broken most of mine. Even if someone else bought them for me, on the cold day in hell I ever get married and have a registry, I just can’t be trusted. That’s all I need is to break a teacup and envision $28 of Great Aunt Millie’s hard-earned retirement money in tiny shards on my kitchen floor. 

I am the person for whom they invented Corelle.