When one is separated and divorce is imminent, one of the topics bandied about by well meaning well-wishers is, "Don't worry, you won't stay single for long."
"Really?" me thinks, "You mean I'll soon get another chance to date forty seven wrong guys before finally honing in on the most best wrong guy before launching into the cringe-worthy world of relationship re-entry?" Oooh, goody. Sign me up. I am positively chomping at the bit to saunter down the well trod path of Will He Like My Cooking? And When Is It OK to Pee in Front of Him? again. Throw in Getting To Know His Parents and His Favorite Foods and Pet Peeves and I pretty much want to throw up. But not on him, goodness, no. Wouldn't want to diminish my chances at "'Til Death Do We Part -- The Sequel."
Which isn't to say that dinner isn't fine. I'll have dinner 'til the cows come home, but that's as far as I'll go for now. Just chit-chat and cloth napkins and who am I kidding? Who the hell am I going to have dinner with? Please. Looking beyond the fact that I don't want to be dating, I shouldn't be dating. Even if I wanted to, which I don't. I have towers of riotous self-help books all over my bedroom waiting for my somber attention like literary stalagmites, the likes of which have brought an unusual topgraphy to my bedroom sanctuary. And I have more crying to do. Certainly a first date isn't the place for an onslaught of heaving sobs, unless of course, we catch a little local Ibsen before dinner and I want to appear deeply affected, moved really, by The Theater. Which brings me to sex.
Here's my sales pitch for a patent pending number on this really great little gadget you just gotta check out. It's not a chastity belt, per se. Chastity belts went out with lemon wedges as tampons sometime after the Crusades. No, this is for the modern woman with a rice paper defense who just might need to be reminded after a glass and a half of wine that her dinner date should end at, "Check, please."
You remember, those bulky home-forged nuisances made of rusty iron? The ones that had padlocks and no spare keys? Well, I'm talking about a chastity belt for today's demanding woman. Something cozy and breathable, made with a cotton/lycra blend that a modern woman can slip on and lock up to remind her that she is in no condition whatsoever to even consider the possibility of sex until she gets her ducks in a row. And I mean all of them.
It's called the "Me Time Belt." It comes in six fashion colors and has a touch pad lock with re-programmable passcode. I would offer it in a barely-there reinforced brushed cotton for the warmer months-- something in a 320 thread count for durability while allowing for a smooth sillouette under summer skirts, and a fleecy warm silk and satin blend for colder climes. That one, called the Shiver Me Timbers, would come with a built in dial for "Warming your cockles when there's no chance of cock!" during those seemingly endless cold, dark winter afternoons.
Wikipedia says: "On February 6, 2004, USA Today reported that at Athens airport in Greece, a woman's steel chastity belt had triggered a security alarm at the metal detector. She was allowed to continue her flight to London on the pilot's authority."
I think she would make a good spokesperson or at the very least, my first customer, don't you?
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