So, I’m on the phone with my girlfriend, Penny, today, and there’s all this noise in the background.
Not where I go to pick up dinner, but to each her own.
Me: “Where the hell are you, an air show?”
Penny: “No, I’m at Public’s.”
Me: “You’re at Pubics? What is that? A sex shop? Nice!”
Penny: “No, Cathy. It’s PUB-LICKS. You know? ‘Where shopping is a pleasure?’ Don’t you have Public’s?”
Me: “‘Where shopping is a pleasure’ sure sounds like a sex shop to me. And who wants to shop at a store named after your groin? What the hell are you shopping for, woman?”
Penny: “Oh, good Lord in Heaven. It’s P-U-B-L-I-X. Publix. And it’s a grocery store, and its slogan is, ‘Where shopping is a pleasure.’ I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.”
Me: “Nope. Never heard of it. And all the stores here are public. And I’m sorry, but if you have your minions with you, shopping is not a damn pleasure, it’s a big ole pain in the ass.”
Penny: “Fine. I’m at the Piggly Wiggly. Is that better?”
Me: “Oh, now you’re just fucking with me.”
This is how our phone conversations go sometimes, because Penny’s lived in Florida for a really long time, and apparently, it’s a big deal there to have public supermarkets. As opposed to private ones, I guess. Whatever. Anyway, so we’re on the phone while she’s in this store that could lose one light in its sign and have “PUB IX” which isn’t really a word but would still make me laugh out loud. Who names a grocery store after a vagina? Because that’s what pubis means, sort of, and I’m pretty sure publix is the plural of pubis. And if it wasn’t before, it sure as hell is now.
So, anyway, miracle of miracles, Penny has no minions with her, and mine are still at Spring Break camp for the day, so even though she’s shopping (And taking some pleasure in it because that’s the rule at the vagina store – they should hand out bullet vibrators when you walk in if they want to keep up the sex theme and really have shopping be a pleasure) we just do our usual chit chat and I ask her increasingly inane questions about this mystery store because it’s bugging her, and I’m a bitch like that.
Penny: “So, this Final Four thing is really cutting into my time with MY Northman.”
Me: “Woman, please. He’s not your Northman. There is only one Northman, and he is my Northman.”
Penny: “Yeah, I was just trying something out there.”
Me: “And how’s that working out for you?”
Me: “Ok, fine. What else shall we talk about while you’re at Pube-Licks? Do they kick you out if you don’t have an orgasm when you see their sale prices?”
Penny: “Something’s wrong with you.”
Me: “So? Did you read Northman’s bedtime story with your non-Northman? I won’t use his name in the blog. He won’t like that. Why don’t we call him Billy?”
Penny: “Billy? Like a goat?”
Me: “No, Billy, like, ‘Hey, my name is William but people call me Billy.’”
Penny: “Thanks for clarifying. And no, we didn’t read it together because he’s been overly involved in that stupid basketball tournament and by the time he comes to bed, I’m asleep.”
Penny: “And I really liked that story! I thought he would, you know…”
I guess shopping really is a pleasure!
Me: “I wonder if you can buy passion fruit at Pubis. Do you get extra bonus points on your frequent shopper card if you do? Ooh! Do they sell those Durex cock rings like they have at Target?”
Penny: “You’re not listening. I loved Northman’s story. That was hot.”
Me: “This isn’t news. Finding out if your one-stop sex-and-passion-fruit store has cock rings, THAT would be news.”
Penny: “I liked the whole thing except for the um, the fisting part. I’m not so sure I want someone’s fist up my hoo-hah. I’ve already given birth, thankyouverymuch, and it wasn’t sexy.”
Me: “I have news for you, Penny. A fist is smaller than a baby.”
Penny: “Yeah, but … ow.”
Me: “Well you don’t do it if it hurts. Obviously. Maybe there’s some kind of sex manual in the book section there. You need help. Look next to the kum-quats.”
I can't think of donkeys without thinking of Donkey from Shrek. "And in the morning, I'm making WAFFLES!!" I should have asked Penny if they sell waffles at her sexy food store.
Penny: “How could it not hurt? Having someone’s fist up your hoo-hah?”
Me: “Ok, once I can ignore, but twice, no. It’s not a ‘hoo-hah.’ That’s like, a donkey’s vagina or something. Call it what it is, woman. Vagina. Say it. VA-GI-NAHHHH.”
Penny: “I will not say that in the market! And that’s not the point! How could it not hurt?”
Me: “Well, fine, if you want to get technical about it, it happens to you at least once a year. You go to your OB/GYN, and while that’s not sexy, she does tuck in her thumb and reach on up there to check you out. And that doesn’t hurt. I mean, it’s not pleasant, but that has more to do with the latex gloves and the nurse watching than with her hand being—”
Penny (cutting me off!): “What? She does?”
Me: “Don’t you pay attention to what’s happening during your own exam, Penny?”
Penny: “No, not really. I don’t want to know. But anyway, I’m pretty sure mine doesn’t do that.” Then she got all cocky, “Yeah! Yeah! Your OB does not have to put her whole hand in your you-know-what! What kind of OB do you go to, anyway?!”
Me: “Ok, you know, I think this has to do with the fact that you have a really short cervical length, and my cervix is about three feet north of my vagina. So my OB has to get her hand in there up to her damn elbow to reach my cervix, but yours can probably just use a fucking q-tip.”
Penny: “Oh, you know, that’s right. I do have a short cervical length. Huh. So your cervix is that far from your vagina? Or labia, or whatever?”
Me: “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
Penny (louder): “I said, is your cervix really that far up? You know? From your vagina? From your outsides?”
Me: “I don’t know about you, but I guarantee someone around you thinks that right now, shopping is a fucking serious pleasure.”
Penny: “Ohmigosh!!! I just said that out loud in the market!”
Me: “Don’t worry, it’s half a sex store, right? They’ll probably give you a discount for that.”