All Your Beets Are Belong to Us
I like food in jars, except for animal body parts and eggs in brine. I have a strange fascination with that stuff. I like beets and pickles and mushrooms and smelly kimchi and even those little creepy looking albino asparagus stalks in jars.
Jarred food is the perfect quick meal. I stand in front of the fridge in my underwear with a pair of chopsticks and eat, it's like a jarred food buffet.
Despite all the hand jobs that I have given to strengthen my delicate fingers, I still struggle when opening new jars. I grunt and curse and pound the jar on the counter top. I run it under warm water and cool water and strain myself trying to get into the jar. Finally, I will resign and put on my pants so that I can ask my neighbor if he will open the jar for me. One day, I will learn to make this into a sexier encounter. I think that I could say, "Excuse me, but could you get into my purple pickled cabbage?" in a voice that would reek of seduction. He's nice enough to not say anything about how sweaty I am and always says something like, "Much obliged, Ma'am. Enjoy your baby corn."
My new vibrator came in the mail the other day. It arrived in a clear plastic case, which isn't the level of privacy that I had hoped for. I waited to use it until the mood was right. I took a glass of wine to bed with me and turned my phone off so that we wouldn't be disturbed. I knocked over the glass in the dark while fumbling to locate my self-warming "massage" oil. I cursed and wished that I owned a bedside lube dispenser. I turned on the lamp and jotted down that idea on an index card complete with a sketch of the prototype so that I wouldn't forget it later. Then, I turned off the light and whispered sweet nothings to my new B.O.B. in his case. He shuddered with anticipation.
Here is what I've learned: never lube before attempting to open the plastic case.
I got out of bed and put on my robe. I pondered knocking on my neighbor's door with my head hung in shame. I imagined handing him the slippery case without making eye contact. I thought about bringing over a jar of olives for him to open as a way to break the ice.
Then, I realized that I had forgotten to buy batteries.
Defeated, I washed my greasy hands, turned my phone to vibrate and waited for someone to call me.