We have a household crisis: Vibrators, or rather the lack of enough vibrators. My disability has altered the delicate balance of horny, sex and satisfaction. For instance, I have the most energy in the morning but Linda is at work (and since she works for the government, phone sex is frowned on). By the time she gets home I am flagging. And we still haven’t worked out the “am I moaning in pleasure or having heart palpitations?” issues. We thought of semaphore (signaling my pain/pleasure with flags) but it seemed a bit cumbersome. Also, giving oral sex while using an oxygen feed is.....challenging. But we’ll figure it out. Until then, well, we still have sexual needs. But that’s why God made the Garden of Eden (yes, the internet shoppe, what did you think I was talking about?).
But now, with the Canadian dollar almost at par, it seems a crime to buy vibrators in Canada when we can get the same or better for half the price in the US; especially when I have a US Post Office Box. While I am very “pro-sexual” for women, I have noticed that many, many customs officers are not. Did you know that Canada Customs officers are STILL the enforcers of what sexual is allowed into Canada? And this is entirely up to the mind of the individual officer. Did you know they have even seized cookbooks going to lesbian stores? The important question was: how exactly do we smuggle in these vibrators when we pick them up on a day trip? No, I know what you’re thinking but that only works in the fantasy land of erotic film. And as cool as I am about saying “Hi, I’m Beth, and I masturbate” (and have to several priests and church pastors), the thought of having four customs officers debate the duty while arguing if vibrators are “home electronics”, “medical supplies” or “home entertainment” (or “industrial tools”?) isn’t really a happy thought.
Plus I keep getting this vision of a stern faced officer, “Have you anything to declare?”
I pull out my vibrator.
“That’s obscene!” they say.
I say, “I know it looks big but actually once you relax...”
They cut me off saying, “No, I mean this falls under obscenity and pornography and am confiscating this....this....”
“Waterproof Dolphin” I finish.
At this point the nightmare sort of gets muddy as the thought of losing my vibrator so close to home traumatizes me. I am not sure if listing how this is a SPECIAL one that has to be bought from New York because it is not only waterproof, vibrates, rotates and undulates but also comes in nifty purple would actually help my cause. That’s the nice nightmare; the bad one is where all the customs officers are my Victorian Values matron aunts.
However, the amount of time I spend eyeing vegetables indicates this is urgent business. Also back to practical function, masturbation is the best way to greet the day because a) it is when I have my greatest motor control and b) This isn’t something I am comfortable asking the home care workers to ‘give me a hand’ (they come in afternoon and night to assist me to “do things I am having trouble with”). That being said, I am still unsure exactly what home care support is supposed to do. I used to think it was to help me eat, prepare food, help me get dressed, stuff like that. Yet on Monday, the home care worker spent most of her time going through my Victoria Secret catalogues and talking about bras. It is not that I don’t mind a little fantasy shopping bonding, but is the government subsidizing my care to find out that my care worker likes the maroon support and push up bras and doesn’t like low cut panties while I like the t-shirt and Pink line bras and multi-colour leopard skin panties?
This is not all we did, we also compared our breast sizes and I tried to explain to the worker (I’ll call her Ivy) who came from Vietnam that Linda wasn’t just a nice person who dropped by. Ivy, who slept in the same room with her mother until 29 and is used to females sleeping in the same room was confused. She also has a minimal grasp of English.
Ivy: "You are so lucky to have a friend who comes over and make a sandwich for you."
I tried to tell her, Linda doesn't come over, Linda lives with me.
"You sisters?" Ivy asked. No.
"So you are like sisters?" No.
"So you are friends, that nice." No, more than friends.
"You special friends?" Ivy asked. Yes.
She said, "I know, I know, this man I know he like living with another man, I ask him all the time, "why you not move out and get married" and he say he like living with man."
I am still wondering if she really "gets" it or just thinks that some people just really like being with their friend more than getting married. But I can't bring myself to tell her, "We have sex" (making strange hand gestures) - so I think, oh close enough!
Okay, one government audit of Elizabeth’s use of home care coming up.
P.S. – if you want to mule vibrators across the Canadian border, please let me know.
3 hours ago