The Awkward Path To Getting Lucky

We’ve hit the boring part of being an old married couple without ever doing the marriage bit.

As determined as I am to make this break a short and singular one, there’s no love lost for the weird, distant aching that comes from sitting next to someone you love because you’ve been together forever and wondering if you’re maybe just there out of habit.

You order your chow mei fun and routinely ask who wants the last dumpling because you’ve always done it. And in the early days of being together, you really cared that the other person got that dumpling, because you had all the feelings for them and wanted to see them happy. But after a certain point, you’re secretly thinking, “Fuck you, that’s my dumpling.”

It’s never even occurred to me until now that we’ve reached the “Fuck you, dumpling” phase of our relationship. And I can’t help but feel like this is mostly my doing. I don’t know what caused my vaginismus, but I do know I haven’t made it any sort of priority to fix the situation over the last two years.

It’s breaking my heart. Ryan deserves better than someone who hoards her dumplings.

It’s only now, standing here with my friends and our hands full of sex toys, that I realize I miss that early stuff in a relationship. Well, not just the early stuff, I suppose. The good stuff.

I want to want to give away my dumplings.

Shit. I feel lonely. And a little pathetic.

Wiping the tears off her cheeks, Shannon tries to regain some adult composure. “Oh, we’re just messing with you, Kat,” she says. “I promise. We will only set you up with people with non-phallic names, okay?”

I look down at the dildo in my hand and feel unexpectedly sad. “No, you guys are fine,” I assure her. “I don’t know if the dating thing is a good idea, but I’ve only got thirty-three days left to make this happen.”

“So let us set you up!” Butter insists.

I sigh. “I think you’re putting the cart before the horse there, Butter.”

“No way! Besides, who cares what comes first, the chicken or the dick!”

From the front of the store comes the muffled sound of a crash, and we all freeze. Like the guilty people we probably are, we scurry around the prep table, through the door, back behind the customer counter. Ben Cleary is standing by the register, biting his lip, fighting a laugh and feverishly attempting to wipe up the coffee we served him no less than fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, without looking up, his voice cracking from the laugh he’s trying to contain. “I came back because I forgot I needed to change my order for next week. I dropped this. I’m sorry.” He finally glances up at us, and all hope for composure is lost. He bursts out laughing—full-on, leaning-on-the-counter, unable-to-breathe laughter.

It’s only then that I realize every single one of us has some manner of sex toy in our hands. Some of us multiple. Oh my damn.

Liz screams. She actually screams. She turns tail and flees back into the kitchen, scurrying so fast I can hear her crash into the prep table. Shannon, Butter and I calmly try to fling the contraband behind our heads and back into the kitchen, but someone flings a bit too hard, and there is a spectacular metallic crash as a stack of mixing bowls comes tumbling down. Liz screams again.

Ben Cleary is trying his very hardest to get a grip, but it’s just not happening. We all straighten up and try to look as professional as we can, but there’s really not a lot we can do to save this. Ben has coffee dripping from his fingers, and there’s a puddle spilling over onto our side of the counter. Shannon and Butter are just staring at him, blinking. And just when I think he’s got a handle on himself, he splutters into laughter again. I fear he may rupture something.

Motherhood may have robbed Shannon of shame, but I don’t think anything could have prepared her for this.

I clap my hands together loudly. Butter and Shannon jump. Ben puts the back of his wrist over his mouth to stifle the sound of his chuckling. There are actual tears in his eyes. “Okay. Shannon, could you go grab a couple of towels and help Mr. Cleary get this spill cleaned up? And, Butter, could you go check on Liz and see if there’s anything you can assist her with in the kitchen?”

Butter giggles, and Shannon slaps her across the arm. “Yes, of course,” Shannon says, aiming for a professional tone, and they scuttle away.

“And Mr. Cleary,” I continue.

“Please,” he says, his voice still cracking. He clears his throat. “Call me Ben.”

I smile at him. He’s being a real sport about the situation, all things considered. The wrist cuff of his shirt has coffee staining the edge. I look closer and see the spatter all over the light blue fabric of the button-up and the gray of his tie. Poor bastard. Came in for a cup of joe, walked in on a cacophony of dick jokes. Didn’t stand a chance.

“You said there was an issue with your order next week? If you’ll step down here to avoid the mess, I’ll be happy to help you with that.”

He shakes the coffee off his hand onto the counter and makes his way down to the other end where I’m now standing, holding out a towel for him. “I really am sorry about that,” he says, gesturing toward the spill. “It slipped.”

I take the towel back from him and give him a little half smile. “I bet it did.”

Shannon reappears at the other end of the counter and silently starts mopping up the mess, refusing to look at either one of us, her eyes dancing with a pent-up burst of manic hilarity.

Ben shakes his head and bites down another laugh. “I wasn’t listening, I swear,” he insists. “I came back in and was about to ring the bell. But when I heard Butter say the thing about the chicken, I laughed, I spilled, and that was it. And then you all came running out with...” He tries to swallow down the guffaw, bless him. His eyes tear up again, and it all comes out as an unfortunate snort.

“I kind of hope you broke a rib just now,” I say, grinning.

He clutches the counter. “Oh my god, I’d deserve it. I’m sorry, but that was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“We like to keep things fresh here,” I say casually. “We are a full-service shop.” His eyes pop open, and he makes a small choking sound. Shannon giggles and dives back into the kitchen, and I close my eyes in dismay over what I just uttered. “Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Someone getting married?” he asks, wiping the tears out of his eyes.

“What?”

“The, um, stuff. Bachelorette party?”

I involuntarily squint at him. “Yes. That makes perfect sense. Absolutely. Liz is getting married in October, so yes. That is exactly what those things were for.”

“Oh, it’s Liz? That’s nice. Good for her.”

“Ace. Now, you said you needed to change next week’s order?” I say, plastering on my best customer service smile. “Well, we’re on a roll here, fella, so let’s get down to it.”

6 (#uab22ad16-deff-5c50-a72b-43434ffdf7d5)

“I can’t believe you told him those things were for my shower,” Liz pouts, stacking a tier of chocolate fudge onto a new platform. “That is so embarrassing.”

“Technically, I said they were for your bachelorette party, and he thinks we got them for you. So he probably thinks we are the dirty birds, not you,” I say with a wink.

The store phone rings and Shannon disappears. Butter adds, “I think this will be good. You’ll go home tonight, get your gear going, and soon you’ll have a happy vagina. Then we can stop making Liz flinch every time we say vagina.”

Liz scowls. I give her a sympathetic look. “You really do flinch.”

“Did you grow up in a house where you called it something else? Like a cutesy word?” Butter asks. “Bajingo? Minge? Foo-foo? Vagoo?”

My eyes narrow at her. “Vagoo? Really? That’s...unfortunate.”

“I dated a guy last year who called them vagoos. Two dates. I couldn’t get past that.”

“Nor should you have.” I shudder. “It’s unforgivable.”

Slapping her piping bag onto the table, Liz snaps, “Okay, fine. No, we didn’t say vagina. We said special, okay?”

“Aww, you called it your special?” Butter asks.

I consider this. “That’s actually kind of genius. I’d grow up thinking my business was like, the key to the universe or something. I wouldn’t let just any man near my special, ya know? I like that. My special.”