An Ultra-Special Blond Moment
There are blond moments and then there are ultra-special blond moments. I have endured both types, but one will stand out in my mind until I no longer draw breath.
Years ago I worked for a small weekly shopper's guide, back on Island. I sold classified advertising and enjoyed the company of a rather cheerful crew in our department. We were all fairly close in age (all between 19 and 25 or so) and frequently socialized outside of work.
One night, one of the girls was holding a "Naughty Nightie" party. Now, there are many of these home-shopping style parties out there. There's Tupperware, Home Decor, Hydroponic plants, and probably 843 more, but this one was to feature sexy lingerie and bedroom toys - put mildly. Incase you've just crawled out from under a rock, the theme of these parties is as such: you all gather in someone's living room and wait for the hostess to show up with her bag of goodies. You eat chips with onion dip, brownies, and if you live in the Midwest USA, a jello mold. The hostess then convinces you that you simply cannot live without a particular item, which you proceed to pay way too much money for. If you are blessed with self-control and do not opt to buy anything, you are then manipulated into doing so after she insists that by failing to comply, you are single-handedly depriving your friend of a "gift" for having everyone to the party. So you end up buying the crap, bringing it home, sticking it on a shelf in the closet and throwing it away next time you relocate.
After attending about thirty of these annoying shindigs, I finally made an across-the-board statement to everyone within earshot that I no longer "do" home shopping parties - so don't ask - or I will have to kill you ... simple as that. But that's after-the-fact. I hadn't had my fill yet.
Off to the party I went.
About thirty minutes into the hostess' presentation, she started passing around something called flavored massage oil. I didn't invent it, I'm just relaying a story here. The first little tube (strawberry) made it's way around the room of about 20 females ... each putting a dab on their finger and tasting it. The whole time, everyone was being quite polite and paying attention to the hostess as she explained each asinine product. I, on the other hand, was fully involved in conversation with a friend of mine the entire time. When the tube of oil was passed to us, we tried it out never skipping a beat in our chit-chat. The second tube arrived (pineapple), then a third (grape) and a fourth (melon). Everyone was passing, tasting and commenting on the oils as Doreen and I discussed the finer things in life - like which club we would play darts at after this insanity ended.
When the next little tube reached me, I opened it, squished a few drops onto my finger and mindlessly placed in on my tongue.
Everyone in the room shouted, "Noooooooooooooo" but not soon enough. I looked around, wide eyed, realizing that this stuff was virtually tasteless. Suddenly my tongue went completely numb, as did my gums, the roof of my mouth and pretty much the entire upper portion of my frigging throat. The girls were laughing too hard to make any sense out of what they were trying to tell me so I looked at the tube and read the label "Prolong Cream." I put Prolong Cream on my damn tongue! Just ducky.
I'll tell you ... the stuff works! I couldn't taste a damn thing for the remainder of this party. Of course, it wasn't designed for the tongue at all, and since this was pre-viagra history, it was as good as it was going to get. I can guarantee, it surely served the purpose for which it was intended.
Of course, the hostess was pleased as punch because there was a sudden rush to buy up her entire stock of this special cream. The oils didn't fare as well next to such a promising (and proven) product. The girls were knocking each other over to get to the table with their money.
And so I earned yet another blond-notch in my belt that night. I didn't mind so much being the highlight of the party, but word spread like wildfire at the entire office the following day. That was a bit hard to swallow ... with or without the product!
Years ago I worked for a small weekly shopper's guide, back on Island. I sold classified advertising and enjoyed the company of a rather cheerful crew in our department. We were all fairly close in age (all between 19 and 25 or so) and frequently socialized outside of work.
One night, one of the girls was holding a "Naughty Nightie" party. Now, there are many of these home-shopping style parties out there. There's Tupperware, Home Decor, Hydroponic plants, and probably 843 more, but this one was to feature sexy lingerie and bedroom toys - put mildly. Incase you've just crawled out from under a rock, the theme of these parties is as such: you all gather in someone's living room and wait for the hostess to show up with her bag of goodies. You eat chips with onion dip, brownies, and if you live in the Midwest USA, a jello mold. The hostess then convinces you that you simply cannot live without a particular item, which you proceed to pay way too much money for. If you are blessed with self-control and do not opt to buy anything, you are then manipulated into doing so after she insists that by failing to comply, you are single-handedly depriving your friend of a "gift" for having everyone to the party. So you end up buying the crap, bringing it home, sticking it on a shelf in the closet and throwing it away next time you relocate.
After attending about thirty of these annoying shindigs, I finally made an across-the-board statement to everyone within earshot that I no longer "do" home shopping parties - so don't ask - or I will have to kill you ... simple as that. But that's after-the-fact. I hadn't had my fill yet.
Off to the party I went.
About thirty minutes into the hostess' presentation, she started passing around something called flavored massage oil. I didn't invent it, I'm just relaying a story here. The first little tube (strawberry) made it's way around the room of about 20 females ... each putting a dab on their finger and tasting it. The whole time, everyone was being quite polite and paying attention to the hostess as she explained each asinine product. I, on the other hand, was fully involved in conversation with a friend of mine the entire time. When the tube of oil was passed to us, we tried it out never skipping a beat in our chit-chat. The second tube arrived (pineapple), then a third (grape) and a fourth (melon). Everyone was passing, tasting and commenting on the oils as Doreen and I discussed the finer things in life - like which club we would play darts at after this insanity ended.
When the next little tube reached me, I opened it, squished a few drops onto my finger and mindlessly placed in on my tongue.
Everyone in the room shouted, "Noooooooooooooo" but not soon enough. I looked around, wide eyed, realizing that this stuff was virtually tasteless. Suddenly my tongue went completely numb, as did my gums, the roof of my mouth and pretty much the entire upper portion of my frigging throat. The girls were laughing too hard to make any sense out of what they were trying to tell me so I looked at the tube and read the label "Prolong Cream." I put Prolong Cream on my damn tongue! Just ducky.
I'll tell you ... the stuff works! I couldn't taste a damn thing for the remainder of this party. Of course, it wasn't designed for the tongue at all, and since this was pre-viagra history, it was as good as it was going to get. I can guarantee, it surely served the purpose for which it was intended.
Of course, the hostess was pleased as punch because there was a sudden rush to buy up her entire stock of this special cream. The oils didn't fare as well next to such a promising (and proven) product. The girls were knocking each other over to get to the table with their money.
And so I earned yet another blond-notch in my belt that night. I didn't mind so much being the highlight of the party, but word spread like wildfire at the entire office the following day. That was a bit hard to swallow ... with or without the product!
posted by Weary Hag at 3:05 PM
6 Comments:
Carol,
LOL!!!
Now, what were ya saying about a "writers block"!? Well!!! This little (hilarious) jewel should definitely clear up any of those mental cob-webs, that you thought ya had!
Carol,
OMG. I am shocked and/or stunned by this story. It's a funny story, but I could just imagine the embarrassment. I probably would have left and never shown up back to work. Or worn a shroud.
Great story!
Beth
Oh, no! Crazy!
Thank you. You have just reminded me of a story I need to tell...about how I first met my ex-boyfriend's sister.
Hi Carol,
That's a funny one! My question is, what's the point of being able to eat for hours if you can't taste anything? If you get my drift. lol.
Brad.
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