Saturday, August 30, 2014


I have this rule.  No plungers, toilet bowl cleaners or vibrators are allowed as a part of a move.  I mean really, they need to be thrown away every once in awhile, and while the cleanliness issue is obvious for the first two, the third item is really left out as a matter of risk.  Am I really going to remember what box I packed my buzzy friend in when we get to our destination?  I'm certainly not going to write "Sex Toys" on the box, although Dan did that once when we moved just as a joke. I think the box was actually filled with Towels and soaps etc.  There were several helpful friends who were quite taken aback when that was the next box in line to be moved during our last few transitions. And what happens if someone is kind enough to want to help you unpack?  How'd you like to unwrap a used Rabbit while helping your friend unpack the non-essentials?

What if you die in transit in a fiery car accident leaving your parents and brothers to manage the things you left behind?  Good grief, I may be paranoid, but I even make sure my closest friends are on board for sex toy cleanup should anything happen to me every time I go on vacation. Listen, its not like I'm a hoarder of all things crude and pornographic.  I have one item at any given time.  One. But not when its time to move.

So this week was the perfect time to clean out my dirty little closet so to speak since Dan was out of town, we were almost done with showings and inspections, and me being the only one responsible for taking the trash out.  I pushed that bad boy carefully down in the trash can under my sink, thinking that my next job was trash collection throughout the house.  I'll get there, I told myself.

Then the phone rang.

There was a showing scheduled, and as we were still not officially under contract it was important not to cancel showings.  I gathered the kids up as quickly as I could, kenneled the dogs and headed out.

And hour later we walked back in the house, and as I went to let the dogs out of their kennels I heard, through the wall, my bathroom trash can vibrating violently, and the door to the bathroom firmly shut.

OMG how did this happen? Were they digging in my trash?  Did someone touch it?? Are they going to tell my realtor? There is this portal where they can post their feedback regarding the house online. They could totally post "House showed great until my child pulled a vibrator out of the trash can." "Great house if you're a freak" "Beware of vibrators"

I mean this mofo was pretty big! I can just hear it in my horrified head: "Look Mommy, what is this toy for?"

The plot thickened.  I recieved an email from my realtor thanking me for letting the buyers in to look around again today.  The buyers.  The people who I have to sit across from at closing in a few short weeks signing my house over to their horrified mugs.  Its going to be great. "So, any interesting finds lately?"  "Which room vibrate- I mean do you like the most?"  

And this is why I have a blog. Because you can't just let a part of your history like this horrifying day slip out of your memory.  It needs to be recorded. Remembered. And hopefully eventually, laughed about.

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