I was tempted to call back. After all, the "gift" could have been something totally fabulous: a lifetime cheese subscription, for example. Or a unicorn. We don't live in New Jersey, so I'm pretty sure the "gift" was a positive thing, and not code for "You're going to get the kiss of death." I figured it was probably something that my former roommate had given this woman to give to me (as she now lives, sadly, two hours away), or possibly something Jewish. I never rule out the possibility of my fake Judaism being a reason for why things happen. During my college years I was pretty much Jewish by association through the sorority I was involved in, the people I knew, and my love of free food. I used to get packets with Hamantashen from the local Chabad on campus; somehow they had tracked down my address with their Jewdar.
For example, my mother just got a call from a Jewish organization that wanted to ask her some questions. My mother, who had had a beer, got a little sassy and said, "I'm not interested, I'm an atheist!" and hung the hell up. Then she tried to blame me for the family household getting calls like that.
Instead of calling the woman back, I texted my former roommate to inquire about this lady and her "gift," and she texted back that it was a Mary Kay lady, and she had had a Mary Kay party, where she was directed to put down contacts to be stalked and madeover. Imagine my disappointment that my "gift" was going to be some lame free pink lip balm or the like, and not something Jewish and delicious. I did not call the woman back. I wasn't pissed or anything - I just didn't want her stalking me for the next six months, telling me I had fall colors, and hustling her overpriced makeup. I have a hard time saying no or being VERY FIRM with anyone, so calling her back would have been my own undoing.
I happened to be following in my mother's footsteps and drinking at a bar that night, when my former roommate texted me about this Mary Kay lady. At that point, any old thoughts were liable to enter my head, and I thought, giddily, why didn't we have a party - and not a Mary Kay party - A SEX TOY PARTY? Are we not modern ladies? Isn't one of our rites of passage having sex toy party?
I texted my former roommate this thought.
YOU KNOW WHAT, I thought, suddenly huffy, WE DIDN'T HAVE A SEX TOY PARTY BECAUSE OUR STUPID BOYFRIENDS WERE ALWAYS HANGING AROUND, RUINING OUR POTENTIAL DILDOFESTS!
And it was true. We were both dating men pretty much the entire time we lived together, boyfriends who either got the boot or gave us the boot, eventually. We occasionally had our nights together, but most of our time was spent studying, drinking with our lady friends, or hanging out with these men, an arrangement we were both fine with - but not one that lent itself well to planning and executing special parties.
I texted her this revelation as well, and ordered another gin and tonic.
I have been to sex toy parties before - probably three or four - all hosted by someone else. I never did make any purchases, but came more for the camaraderie, and to kick ass at the penis drawing contests. During one of these parties, another former roommate did purchase something - it was phallic, glow in the dark, and had the ability to stick to the wall. She had bought it on the sly for prank purposes only. Its first moment of fun came when another girl, who lived with us, walked into the bathroom one day to see it stuck to the shower wall, pointing lewdly at her. From there it moved around the apartment, appearing under pillows and on laptops, in dresser drawers and behind boxes of Mac N Cheese.
Before this particular product had appeared, however, we had been pulling the same prank on each other with a tube of Vagisil - hiding it in backpacks and purses, bathroom cupboards, and wherever it would be a surprise. One became hyper-aware, in those days, that one might open a cupboard or shake out a sock and suddenly come face to face with that loathsome white tube.
That particular game ended when, after a long day, I came home and was sitting in the living room, and one of my roommates asked if I had found anything.
"What?" I asked. "What would I find?"
"Oh, nothing." I knew she was up to no good, and it probably had something to do with the Vagisil.
"Where is it?"
"Oh, I don't know. Did you use your backpack today?"
At this point, I'm sure I gave her a questioning look. "Yes, but I didn't find it. Where is it?!"
I ran into my bedroom to dig inside my backpack, but found nothing. Not in any of the small pockets or larger compartments. Then I looked at the net pocket on the side, used mainly to hold a water bottle. There it was. In full view. The Vagisil. And I had been carrying my backpack all day - around campus, to class, to work, to the library, EVERYWHERE.
I came back to the living room, probably looking pissed and/or defeated. "I FOUND IT." I then retreated to my room, thinking about the people who could have been witness to what they surely assumed was MY Vagisil.
My roommate was apologetic. She'd thought I'd find it that morning, before I left. She even wrote me an apology note. I've forgiven her, but I remain wary of games of lets-plant-the-whatever-on-somebody.
It's all fun and games until somebody walks around with Vagisil all day.
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