Translation: "Sex for sale; stereotypes only!"

Aside from feeding my addiction for like-new books at used prices, I’ve never enjoyed shopping. I have on occasion been tempted, however, to browse the sales at local sex shops.

“Can I help you?”

“No thanks, I’m just browsing,” and then a few seconds later, “Well, I’m wondering if you have any sex on clearance?”

Then the clerk shows me to a rack in the back corner where small paper signs in bright colors confirm that, indeed, sex is 50% off (until Saturday). It is here that I’ll spend the next hour hoping to find sex in my size, and more importantly, sex in my price range. Eventually, I stumble upon some sex that is incorrectly marked and bears a small stain, but that’s okay–it’s multicolored and looks comfortable.

The last time I bought sex it was slightly big, but worked fine after a few washings, so a stain is only a minor annoyance… and likely won’t show in the dimly lit areas I tend to frequent. In those places, it will seem like brand new sex, as if I got it from the shop’s front window and paid full-price.