I don't blog about sex, and for lots of good reasons besides the fact that you probably don't want to hear about it, at least here. My family reads this blog, as do former coworkers and lots of other random people I don't know personally. So I don't blog about sex. Instead, I blog about the fact that I make lots of little magnets from lots of little pictures. I sell lots of little magnets made from lots of little pictures at lots of little shows. You wouldn't think this would be read as sexual. Ever. Until this weekend.
Scene: At a small local craft fair.
Woman walks by my table, studies magnet display. Smiling at all the cute animal magnets. Suddenly, she frowns and looks up at me.
Woman: Don't you think that's a tad, ahem (clears throat, stage whispers while looking away from her child), inappropriate?
Me: (cranes neck to look at front of display): What? The peach?
Woman: Yes. (Points, slightly frantic, continues stage whisper) That. One. RIGHT. THERE.
Me: Um, I'm sure it's a peach? At this point I fully understand what she's getting at, but since she's such a prude, I'm hoping I can actually make her say "vagina," genitalia," "vulva," or even "hoo-haw."
Woman: I really do not appreciate that.
Me: (smiles) Well, have a nice day.
Woman takes child's hand and scurries away in a huff. I decide to rearrange my display with the shocking peach right in the center, hoping that by some unknown Freudian force it will draw lots and lots of customers. It doesn't. So it is still available here.
The moral of this story is, if you are confusing tiny peach magnets with vaginas, you need more fruit in your life. And more sex. And probably more of these guys.