Posso presentarmi? (May I introduce myself?)
It’s hard to meet nice guys when you sell sex toys for a living. Not that I actually sell them personally. I mean, I work for a company that sells them. I’m a vice president, even. But, still, guys are intimidated by this. They think I’m secretly comparing them to our product line: Well, he’s got better girth than the Alexander the Great model, but nothing beats the StudMuffin SuperTurbo for sheer staying power.
Like I’d compare an actual guy to something that takes four Triple A batteries to operate.
Still, if they can get beyond the comparison problem, there’s the Mother Factor. In other words, am I somebody they’d take home to meet their mother? So far, it’s never happened.
Not even once.
It’s not so much that I’d want to meet some guy’s mother. I’m not sitting around wistfully perusing the pages of Bride magazine and taping episodes of A Wedding Story on TLC, then daydreaming about the Kirby Green and Insert-Groom’s-Name-Here wedding. I’m not interested in being stuffed into some man’s definition of what a wife should be. I know all about the wife-as-doormat transformation. Hell, I grew up with doormat.
Still, it would be nice to be asked. Not to get married. Just home to somebody’s Mom’s for Sunday dinner.
Even once.