From England via: Florida, Dave shares:
I've been pretty fortunate when it comes to embarrassing moments
with my parents, mostly because when I left home for university I quickly
realized that some things (i.e. them) are much better in small doses. Certainly
no alcohol fuelled tales of shame and woe here. However, this stands out as a
somewhat uncomfortable situation:
At some point during my childhood, my mother had purchased a
delightful electronic device to help with the aching muscles in her shoulders,
neck, and back - one from which the entire family could benefit. I present the
electric vibratory massager, "for fast soothing relief."
Not the exact model, but you get the idea. It came with a
variety of exotic attachments, including one with knobbly bits, designed to
penetrate hair... This was the 80s, people had more hair back then. On their
heads, too.
Now, I'm sure it’s purchase was innocent enough, or it would
have been hidden away faster than the small bottle of aphrodisiac I
accidentally discovered in my dad's sock draw that one time. Awkward.
Anyway,
when I was about ten I regularly went to a swimming club on Tuesday nights.
There was always a crowd of people afterwards - parents picking up their kids,
people who worked at the pool – you get the idea. Well, one evening I'd managed
to pull a muscle in my shoulder, so when my mother arrived to pick me up, I
(very loudly) declared I needed her to rub me with her vibrator when we got
home.
That
was the end of any sort of family gifts that vibrate.
