Day 1. Shooting my WAD at the Sex Toy Party

First post of the year.
Back on the 500 Words A Day bus (hence the title).
This one messed with my OCD.  
500 Words A Day for 30 days, would end on March 30, which is not the last day of the month.
If you want it to end when the month does, you have to start on Day 2, which is not right either.....*sigh*

My submission is below:

Why would I pay money to make my ass look like my grandma's couch???

It feels like all of my friends are in direct marketing businesses.

Leggings.

Lipstick.

Various forms of melting air fresheners.

Dildos.

I find the leggings hideous. Like, eye-searingly awful.

I don't wear lipstick. Lipstick feels too waxy and it ends up on my teeth and since people are dumb, I usually don't find out until I have run a thousand errands and talked to that hot guy I am too embarrassed to flirt with and that chick I hate at the mall and your mom.

I like air fresheners. I like nice smells in my house, but I am clumsy and I always smack into them and send the wax flying. Do you know how hard it is to get blue or purple wax out of tan carpet?

Dildos, vibrators, etc are all fine and dandy, but the parties always feel fake and forced to me. My friends, who are usually chill and talk about coffee and kids and existential crises and bills and shit like that are suddenly sexy minxes who introduce themselves and their vaginas alliteratively (that a word?) with stuff like, “Hi, my name is Jen and my vagina is Juicy”, or “Hi, my name is Chris and my vagina is Cute.” 

I can't even.

I hate everyone and all interactions outside of my safe circle, so these parties are agony.

UNTIL.

I am always “on” when I am in social situations.

I get to a party or gathering or whatever, and immediately ramp up the charm and humor until I feel comfortable enough to not sit in the corner by the snacks and try to find an adjective to describe my lady bits that doesn't make me vomit.

I decided on modest.

Which she isn't, but I am not gonna tell any of these suddenly saucy sirens any more about my vagina than I have to.

Inevitably, at the end of these various makeup, waxy smells, dildo, clothes, jewellery, whatever parties, the hostess and her mentor pull me aside and insist I am PERFECT for this kind of thing and need to spend $64000 on a start up kit so I can be part of the TEAM and make enough money to quit my day job (which I happen to be very fond of, so no) and go to conventions and seminars and conferences, OH MY!

Instead, I just spend $200 on sex toys or wax that smells like lavender or the ocean, take a brochure and slink out the door (hitting the snack table on the way).

The problem is that all of these people are now all over social media advertising their wares and their parties and I want to be supportive and help my girls out and buy all their stuff and help them be free of The Man, but I don't want to be broke in a houseful of dildos and ugly leggings with lipstick on my teeth, ironing wax out of my carpet.

Maybe I just need new friends. Or none.

This is just here to make up for the ugly leggings at the top.  You're welcome.