Pro tip: If your OkCupid username is “fun_not_long,” my brain goes to the filthiest and most unflattering place possible for you.
Yeah, yeah, “size doesn’t matter” — tell that to the guy I dated who was SO secure in that notion that he brought a compensatory Magic Wand* to our FIRST (and only) sexual encounter.
Digression 1: I was not at all displeased with the Magic Wand — it’s named that for a reason. If I didn’t already own two pricey sex toys that get the job done just fine, with a portion of my forthcoming (heh) tax refund earmarked for a third because it looks SUPER fun, I’d be all over (heh) the Magic Wand.
Digression 2: Now my brain is wandering to memories of that Magic Wand experience (my first), during which I learned about orgasm denial, and why it’s a thing. A thing that man was impressively skilled at doing to me. A thing I wish he hadn’t just decided to DO to me without warning the first time we slept together, because I was ready to murder him, but a thing that worked out incredibly well for me in the end. I have no idea how he could tell when I was JUST about to, or if it was just a lucky guess, but damn. Dude was like the Orgasm Whisperer.
Digression 3: This is not a good train of thought at work. Though my mental image of said train barreling full-speed through a tiny, tense tunnel is a hilarious metaphor.
*I linked to the Walmart site only because I am infinitely amused you can buy it there.
Amazon user review on Rich Bitch, by Nicole Lapin: “Having worked in finance for years, I know how dry and masculine conversations about money can be – but this book, on the other hand, is totally refreshing and entertaining. It offers a ton of empowering, insightful, and practical advice and is one of those books you get for every woman on your Christmas list.”
Ohhhhh… Go fuck yourself. Hard.
I almost don’t want to buy it now, but I do need a For-Dummies-like primer for my finances. But that’s not because I’m a woman, it’s because I’m a dumbass. Dicknuts.
I know I’m not a dumbass, I just have a hard time with numbers. And I wasn’t traumatized by gender inequality in my youth when the boys started dominating math — my parents are also shit with money, so the ineptitude is genetic.
I’m trying, but it’s just SO difficult with all the MANLINESS, you know? All those penises on the forms… How is my tiny lady-brain supposed to understand
The good news is, depending on the minute, I either sound like Sick Phoebe singing her sultry version of “Smelly Cat” on Friends, or like I could successfully supplement my income by taking a side gig as a phone sex operator. (Is phone sex even still a thing? Probably not. I’m behind the porn ball. No, wait… Ew… But I could totally bring it back. Like flannel shirts. Porny ones…)
Right. So clearly I should be keeping an eye on my temperature, because delirium is setting in.
Male Coworker: “I could live on pizza and tacos.”
Me: “OMG, me too.”
Coworker: “See, that’s why you should have kids, because they’ll eat that stuff every day.”
Me: “Uh, that’s why I DON’T have kids, because I’d have giant-mutant-obese kids who only ate pizza and tacos.”
Also, that doesn’t even make sense — I don’t need to have children to eat tacos and pizza. I just…CAN. I am a grown-ass woman and I can eat tacos whenever the hell I want. AND, with the money I save not having to buy food for Smug Junior, I can also get nachos or extra guac. My barren womb for liquid cheese? This seems like a fair trade.
Joking aside, I must reiterate that this is not a thing you should be saying, especially at work, especially if you don’t know the person well. What if a medical condition has made it such that giving birth could actually kill her? What if she’s been trying to conceive and not able to? What if she HAS conceived and the pregnancy didn’t take? What if her husband has some sort of issue and it’s causing them marital problems?
Honestly, shut your fucking mouth. This is a gross and invasive thing to say.
Besides, I don’t even have room to birth a kid to share tacos with when I have YOU all up in my vagina. You’re really hurting your cause.