Late in my freshmen year of college, I was in my then-girlfriend’s dorm room, doing what college kids do. Which is to say that Marie was writing an essay, while I was idly sitting around explaining the difference between a Koopa Troopa and turtle to her roommate, Jess. I was on the lower bunk, Jess’s bed hanging over me. This allowed me to acknowledge both women in the room without having to turn my head very much. Ideal and efficient.
Reaching a crescendo in my nerdy diatribe, I found myself needing to sit upright to really hammer home a Nintendo fact. I wrapped my hands around the edge of Jess’s bed and pulled myself forward. This was almost like a pull-up, but I was sitting down and also there is no physical benefit. My feet firmly planted on the ground, and my head poking out from between the bunk beds. I continued to talk about Nintendo when –
I was interrupted when something dropped out of Jess’s bed and conked me square in the head. It took me a few seconds to register what had happened, but the sounds of this rubbery object hitting the floor made both girls turn around. Instinctively, I reached down to pick it up. It was bright purple, firm rubber, and a familiar shape. I began wielding it like I had just picked up Samuel L. Jackson’s lightsaber, when my eyes finally spoke to my brain. This was no lightsaber. It was a purple vibrator.
My brain contemplated where that had been and managed to communicate with my hand. I dropped that thing faster than Snoop Dogg with a hot potato. Unfortunately, my girlfriend didn’t quite understand what was happening and had also followed her lesser base instincts to pick up something off of the floor. She immediately regretted it and the veiny purple vibrator hit the floor for the 3rd time in as many minutes.
Jess turned around in her chair. She looked at the floor. Then she looked back up at me. She calmly and quietly asked: