The Awkward Path To Getting Lucky

“Lady, calm down,” Butter demands, “or I’ll hit you with my glitter brush.”

Shannon can’t help it. The side of her mouth twitches with a hint of a smile. “Well,” she says at a far more human volume, “are you going to see other people, too?”

“No. Why would I? That’s the whole point. It’s a ‘Me, Myself and I’ kind of therapy.”

“Yeah, but the actual having sex thing isn’t,” she says. “And doing the therapy is very different from sleeping with someone. It’s not like you’re going to be able to just hop back in that saddle after a few weeks of work and everything goes smoothly, you know? It can take a few tries.”

I gasp. “You never told me that!”

Shannon looks around wildly. “When would I have had a chance to tell you? How was I supposed to know you’d run home and break up with Ryan?”

“Glitter brush, guys!” Butter warns.

Shannon takes the kind of breath that I have seen her take many times before when dealing with her children. “I’m just saying that in this case, practice really does make perfect.”

“Since he’s going to be seeing other people,” Butter offers, “why don’t you see other people, too? Then you could...uh, practice.”

Looking like she’s giving this thought way more consideration than it deserves, Shannon says, “That could work, actually.”

I look at them like they’ve each grown three heads. “How am I supposed to date someone new with all this going on? ‘So, this is great—however, it’s possible I can’t have sex with you, but let’s go ahead and give that third date a go anyway’?”

Shannon frowns. “Yeah, you’d want to try with someone you were really comfortable with, for sure.” With a frown directed squarely at me, she adds, “Which is what I assumed Ryan would be.”

I glare at her. “Will you stop? This is hard enough without added guilt from you. He seemed okay with the situation.”

I think he was, anyway. And I think I am.

I am, aren’t I?

We are all standing here, sipping coffee and contemplating what Shannon has said when the back doorbell dings. Morning deliveries. Shannon sighs and sets down her mug, giving it a longing look before she heads out to sign for everything.

Liz, her white-blond hair pulled back tightly into a chignon today, starts fiddling with a ball of lavender-colored fondant. Butter takes her brush out of her apron pocket and pokes at the inside of a nearly empty glitter pot on her station. Both of them are clearly avoiding my gaze, which is more than a little awkward.

Then Shannon comes running back in with a mischievous smile on her face and a stack of boxes in her arms. She’s practically skipping as she sets them down on her station.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask.

“What’s up with you?” Butter asks. “You didn’t even finish your coffee.”

“They came,” Shannon says gleefully, bouncing on her toes.

Butter gasps. Liz blushes. I glare.

“What came?”

They fly at the boxes, and suddenly it’s like Christmas morning, but with powdered sugar dust flying everywhere in lieu of snow. There’s a rustling of paper, squealing, a gasp from Liz, and a few seconds later, Shannon and Butter emerge, hands clutching a variety of sex toys.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Look what we got!”

I shake my head and rub my temples. “I see what you got. Why did you get them?”

“Well, seeing as you waited two years to take matters into your own hands,” Shannon says with an exaggerated wink, “we decided we’d step up and give you some motivation. I remember all the things my doc suggested I use, so we ordered you everything! There are dilators, different kinds of lubes, faux-penises in varying sizes, natural and synthetic materials—all the things a gal could possibly need to stroll her vagina down the road to recovery!”

She and Butter are standing there in our tiny kitchen, a dildo and bottle of lube in each hand, held proudly over their heads in triumph, looks of absolute glee on their faces. Liz’s face slowly drops its look of horror as she edges closer to the boxes and peeks inside.

“You guys are the best friends a vagina could have.” I smile. “This is also the weirdest thing I’ve ever been a part of. You had sex toys overnighted to our bakery. Why’d you have them delivered here?”

“Because I couldn’t carry all of this on my walk to work,” Butter says as she starts loading my arms up with fleshy implements.

Shannon hands me a bottle of all-natural lubricant. “And if they came to my house, my kids would have thought they were early birthday presents. Back when I was in this scene, they were both too little to notice, but now they wouldn’t think twice before tearing the boxes open. And that would be hard to explain to Child Protective Services.”

“Fair enough.”

“And!” Shannon continues like a demented game show host. “I forgot to tell you, what with the Ryan news, but last night I printed off a whole bunch of instructions on the different techniques for you.” She reaches under the prep table and pulls out what can only be described as a home-printed encyclopedia of vaginal information.

I flip through some of the pages. There are diagrams, full-color schematics of anatomy and pages upon pages of different therapy tools, which could also be confused with a sex-toy police lineup. The devices are all assorted by length, girth and so on—and presented in a clinical manner that’s both hilarious and a bit unsettling.

“The next time any of you has an even slightly embarrassing condition, you just wait,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s so on.”

“Now we just need to get you a date!” Butter adds.

I drop a dildo. “Excuse me?”

“A date! Come on, we just talked about this! So when your noonie is at full capacity, you’ve got someone ready to test it out with!”

Shannon jabs a dilator through the air. “I’m coming around on that, actually. Things were definitely easier for me since I had Joe to practice with, so what if we set you up with someone? Because I know this guy Richard from City Planning, and I have always thought he’d be perfect for you.”

Butter chokes on a laugh, and her hands, still full of flesh-colored rubber penises, fly to her mouth. I shake my head. “Shannon.”

“What?”

“Richard? You want to set me up with a guy named Dick? Come on.”

Her face goes still as she processes, and then she doubles over laughing, her ponytail of golden curls flying by my face as she cackles toward the floor. “I swear I didn’t think of that,” she gasps without looking up. “But, oh my god, that’s amazing.”

Letting her own guffaw loose, Butter adds, “I knew a Willy in college. I bet he’s still single. Want me to give him a call?”

Liz giggles over the boxes. “One of our groomsmen is named Peter.”

Jerking up to a standing position, Shannon has tears streaming down her face. “What about Rod who does deliveries on Thursdays? Or, okay, there’s a guy who works at the butcher shop by my house, and cross my heart, his name is Lance Johnson.”

She flops over onto the prep table, completely taken by hysterics. Butter is making strangled sounds as she tries to pull in air through her laughter, and even Liz has lost it.

“Hardy-har, yes, it’s hilarious, they all have names like penises,” I say, shaking my head. My coworkers are all in various states of collapse, clutching sex toys, laughing like ten-year-old boys, and while sure, Lance Johnson is actually pretty hilarious, I’m not feeling very chuckly at the moment.

It really has been forever since I’ve even been out with a guy who wasn’t Ryan. Even worse, it’s been forever since I’ve been out with Ryan himself. I can’t remember the last time he and I went out on what would be considered a date. We hit that too-comfortable stage even before my giblets went on strike, and half the time we spend together is ordering in and eating from take-out containers on the couch because neither of us wants to bother with dishes later.