Parenting for Dummies, and Pole Dancing...

…can both be found at Barnes and Nobles, in the self-help section.

Now, this is important for two reasons: one, I was quite worried I was going to have to traipse, incognito into Adam and Eve, this sex shop out here, to find a funny, yet still presentable 40th bash gift. I’d considered nipple tassles, but when I checked online, it said they were backordered. A Guide To Pole Dancing, it is. As Mags is a bit on the conservative side, I figured this was perfect. It’s even illustrated…by this little chickadee (with a perfect body, of course) in a bikini and pole, and all moves are subdiveded down into three parts. Really. Any idiot apparently, can pole dance. Evidently, at least according to this source, the difficulty lies in adding horrifically ugly, and disgustingly high heels into the mix of hip flings, gyrations, and upper-thigh moves I’ve not seen since the last time I gave birth.

Secondly, this particular book was nestled right next to the Parenting For Dummies book, which makes me wonder if there is something besides organization by alphabet going on here. Like…maybe, you get the pole dancing book? And then once you mastered the moves? You’d clearly have to move down the shelf a bit, since that one time, when you did the Dancing Diva move, you really broke some records (and something latex perhaps) and now, you’re in the market for the next volume on the shelf. Puts a whole new spin on Up The Pole, now doesn’t it?

I had a hard time as it was, keeping a straight face while perusing the manual, as this woman next to me kept staring over the edge of her PC For Dummies volume, sporting both a look of utter revulsion, and curiousity. She kept edging closer to me, while I shifted my weight away from her; her censorus looks were really starting to annoy me - honestly, if I wanted to buy that for myself, say, as a weight-loss limbering up exercise book, I’d be fully within my rights. She got so close, that I could feel her breath on my arm. The one holding the book up so I could turn the page - which is when I ever so not causally reached out and handed her one of her own to check out. She dropped it as though I’d burned her with a branding iron. How is reading over my shoulder while holding a slightly more mundane volume really any better than touching the book herself? I kept waiting for her to ask me to either turn the pages faster, or demonstrate some of the moves.

Needless to say, I left, book in hand, along with the request for a gift receipt, gift bag, and tissue paper. Yes, I realize that I’m a grown-up, and as such, should be able to purchase said manual without being the least embarrassed - and I’m not. So long as that smarmy guy who always stares at me behind the counter realizes that it’s a GIFT, and not something I EVER intend to do, say, for….him. Yes, sadly, he’s asked me out before, and not just once. Like a couple of times. My excuses border on the Incredibly Lame, as it’s really not in my nature to hurt anyone’s feelings; I hardly could come out and tell him that I find being in his presence the same as visiting the morgue naked. Or, that the way he licks his lips reminds me of two slugs, stapled to his teeth, getting slimed. Instead, I’ve told him this last time, (he naturally had to ask me about the book…and it’s intended recipiant, followed by inviting himself along to the party as my date) that while part of me was ready to resume dating the rest of me, wasn’t playing along.

He told me he had a “little something” that could help with that, and I’d be back to good as new in now time.

While attempting to make my great escape, I realized that I am now sandwiched between Slug Lips, and Curious Uptight Prude, who is still leaning over my shoulder to get a better look at the cover, and Slug Lips is holding up the manual, in a manner that suggests only that he is showing it to every last human being in the store. You know the pose…nearly over his head, asking me if I want a bag.

Which is when, it finally hits me: there is a book missing, between Pole Dancing, in it’s glorious pink and silver lame cover, and Parenting For Dummies, in it’s signature yellow - the Please Mind Your Own Fucking Business, Emily Posts’s daughters newest, latest and greatest self-teaching manners guide.

I’d write it myself, including things like, Chapter One -Grow A Set: Handle Your Own Erotic Novels and Manuals, and How To Not Make A Scene When Cutting Off The Balls Of The Cashier at Barnes And Nobles, Who Constantly Makes A Pest Of Himself.

It might be the next best seller.

Right after, naturally, the Guide to Pole Dancing.