HUMOR

Please Pass the Sugar

Everything is for sale

“My best feature is unfortunately a private matter, although I’m told it is spectacular. But you can’t really walk it down the red carpet.” ~ Kate Beckinsale

Last month, my husband and I decided to go shopping after Sunday Mass. As we strolled through quaint little shops, I stroked exquisite silk scarves and fingered fur-lined gloves. Imagine my surprise when I snaked through the aisles and came across a blown glass bowl that held a stunning resemblance to, how shall I say this … lady bits? A hoo-hah? A vajayjay? A pootenany?

I gasped at the visual stunner, clutching onto a table edge for support. Did I just moan out loud? Flashbacks of passionate nights crashed around me in waves. My breathing grew jagged. There it was in all it’s pink glory, surrounded by an array of jewels. It was as if the treasure box had just spilled it’s riches, revealing it truly was lined with gold.

The price seemed absurdly low at $250, although I admit I’m a bit fuzzy on the going rate. Certainly someone would snatch it up. I don’t need to hammer home its value and usefulness.

I imagined what I would do with such a peach. If hosting a party, would I fill it with the sweetest juice? Perhaps stuff it full of cocktail wieners? Maybe nuts? Turn it into a banana basket? Pack it with sweetmeats? Hot pockets? Whipped cream and cherries? The options were endless and dizzying.

And what’s up with the marble plaque heralding The Whalen Family positioned directly in front of it? How did they fit in? Were they bragging about something?

I had to know.

I decided not to pussyfoot around. I messaged my writing friend Michael Whalen and asked him straight out, “Why is your family name displayed proudly near a blown glass vagina?”

After a pregnant pause, he claimed to have no knowledge of the origins of the matchup, but agreed the large vessel was impressive. I kept poking around the subject, yet he continued to deny any prior involvement with the piece. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.

Michael must have studied the picture I sent, taking in every detail with the masterful eye of a true connoisseur. After all, his poetry often celebrates the female form and feminine mystique.

He noted, with a trace of relief, the artist’s name has a “z” at the end.

That, right there, split me in two.

Thanks to Michael Whalen for being such a great sport. Although I still think he’s clamming up about his connection to the sale of this little number. It’s got his name written all over it! He needs to just spew out all the juicy details already!

Read on for more of Tracy’s humor: