Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Near Miss

When I walked out of the Herb and saw her, for some reason I felt compelled to lower my voice and scratch out a slow gravelly "rodenhizer".

It took a couple more steps for Rodenhizer, the assistant manager at your favourite local sex store, to clock that her name had been called: then her shoulders tightened, a hiccough in her stride. She looked up, a little scared and a lot confused. I stepped forward. She looked back. The worried look broke into a grin.

"Oh, it's you!"

"Yep, not god, you're safe."

"Hell, this is way better."

Though people have called god in my presence, it's the first time I've been called better than god.

"You know, I was worried there for a second. There was a nun in the store yesterday, and she got totally pissed at me."

"Really? In the store? What was she doing?"

Not that I doubt nuns are sexual or anything. It's just an unusual occurrence.

"She wanted me to buy a calendar. And when I said no, she gave me a one hundred per cent scowl. So I thought I was maybe in trouble with god."

"She came into the store to sell you a calendar?"

"I know. She asked and I just thought, 'Lady, there are cocks on the wall. You think I want a Jesus calendar?'"

Though, come to think of it, that might make a nice tableau.

1 comment:

Milan said...

Living in a city with a good sex store is something I find quite comforting. It suggests both the practicality of concerns about things like materials and physical characteristics and enough curiosity to suggest a vital populace.

Even nuns should be able to appreciate the difference between a safe and empowered experience and something suppressed and dangerous.