The Brit version of our “dollar stores” (everything for a dollar) is named “Poundland”, and every year they spice up their Christmas commercials with something a little more daring. This year was no exception:
Needless to say, the Perpetually Offended raced to the barricades, and the usual bullshit followed.
Now it’s my turn to be offended. I happen to love using sexual banter, innuendo and double entendre in my everyday speech. I think sex is the spice of life, it’s certainly the spice of conversation, and as long as you don’t get crude and crass about it, it serves as both mental gymnastics and flirting.
I remember once having lunch with a coworker who happened to be an extraordinarily-beautiful woman — I mean, imagine a face like Monroe and a body like vintage Nigella, and you’re getting close. As it happened, we decided to have dessert, and ordered: she a strawberry sundae and I, a banana split. When the dishes arrived, we both made a face of distaste.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She gestured at the maraschino sitting atop the sundae, and said, “I hate cherries.” Then she asked, “And what’s wrong with yours?”
I pointed at the chopped nuts scattered all over the banana split, and said, “Ugh.” (I hate mixing crunchy with soft textures in my food.)
Then I said, “Well, I’ll tell you what we can do.”
“If you eat my nuts, I’ll pop your cherry.”
She laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks, then threw the cherry at me, still laughing.
I should point out that this incident took place in the early 1980s, when one could say stuff like this and not get arrested for aggravated patriarchy or whatever they call it these days. Nowadays, of course, she’d complain to HR and I’d get crucified, lose my job and never be able to find work again.
I miss the old days. God, I miss the old days.
Oh, and as for the story which introduced this post: as much as I enjoy the occasional finger, I don’t really care much for the Cadbury’s version.