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“Sir” the TSA agent said, “Is this your dildo in this carry-on?”
My wife leaned in and whispered, “I thought you were going to check that bag?”
The agent, as we found later while sitting in that special TSA room you only get invited to when you are a terrorist, or have stuff in your baggage so outlandish it has to be shared with every TSA agent on duty, was from Africa, and despite living in this country for most of his life, had grown up in a conservative family with all brothers.
He was startled by our gift sex toys, destined for a middle-aged birthday party, and decided it obviously couldn’t just be a giant rubber cock because it was too big, so it had to be concealing something else.
But what better gift for a woman on her fortieth birthday, who was also celebrating being newly divorced, than a 12-inch pink dildo with matching vibrator?
She was newly free, obsessed with sex after a long run of abstinence by bad marriage, and hating every thought of having her friends remind her this birthday ended in a zero, and her youth as a 30-something was now gone forever.
Researching dildos online turned out to be a lost afternoon of wine, giggles and “Oh my God, what the hell is that?” Three hours, and two bottles later, we had drunk-shopped our way…
