Heather is an expat Brit living in Lapland where she spends her time ignoring the mess and destruction her children are creating around her by blogging at Note From Lapland, drinking wine by the box and playing with her supermarket bought sex toys. And when she's not doing that she's probably talking about monkey sex on Twitter. She is also a super dooper uber blogger and I am thrilled she has decided to park her ass at my place for the day. But then I thought.... bugger that!
There is very little you can’t buy in a well stocked Finnish supermarket. Bread, milk, rifles, fishing nets, bullets, porn magazines, sex toys…
Wait, back up there a minute.
Sex toys?
Because I have long gotten over the shock of rifles, bullets and porn mags being readily available.
Why would you buy a sex toy from a supermarket?
Seriously, can you imagine it?
There you are queueing up at the till, trolley laden with food, a Rampant Rabbit stuffed down in the middle so no-one can see it, trying nonchalantly to unload your shopping onto the conveyor belt, looking for all the world as though as though a vibrator is the most reasonable thing to be pulling out of your trolley and laying down next to the cheese and apples.
And you just know that it’s not going to go smoothly at the check out, don’t you? You know full well that the bar code won’t match or the box will be dented and the oh so helpful assistant who can’t believe someone was dumb enough to actually buy one -they’d probably been having bets in the staff room as to who the first one to check out a dildo was going to be -will press the bell and shout out
‘Sherl! Sherl! What’s the price for this vibrator, Shirl? Can you go to the dildo section and have a look? Yeah, that’s right, the Rampant Rabbit!’ Whilst waving the box over her head for all the shop to see as you sink slowly into the floor and try to crawl underneath your trolley.
And then you’ll be made to stand there waiting, because of course she won’t actually start ringing the rest of your shopping through until she has the code for the sex toy and you can only stand still, staring at your feet, cheeks burning in shame.
‘It’s only a vibrator!’ you want to shout,’ I know you all have one! Stop judging me!’ but you don’t. You simply stand and die of mortification.
And of course you’ll never be able to go back to that shop again, even though it is the only one that sells that nice curry paste you like and…sod the curry paste, it’s the ONLY ONE LICENCED TO SELL WINE!
Bollocks to that, I’m all for sexual freedom and the lifting of taboos but I think I’ll be getting my sex toys the traditional way, posted to me in a brown paper envelope, thank you very much.
