I did some last-minute shopping on Monday.
[Although I do employ a literary device in this post to convey the gist of the story without embarassing anyone, be advised that it is of an adult nature.]

First of all, driving to Mariahilferstrasse, Vienna’s busiest shopping district, in the days prior to Christmas is a really bad idea. But I just had to go browse Vienna’s best sex shop and look for last-minute inspiration.

Unfortunately, all that shit is like totally expensive. And, also, how many lalalalala does a person need, anyway?
Fortunately, a really hot person was cashiering. Not only cashiering, she was walking around giving advice.
She was tall and slim, gothically beautiful, black hair, bangs, a few piercings. Polite, professional.
If Hollywood were to do this story, her part would be played by a boa constrictor and mine would be a small white rabbit in a black suit.
I browsed for a while. I didn’t even bother looking at the lalalalalalalala cause that’s something one has to buy for oneself.
You know how in bookstores they have notes next to some books, written by staff who have read the books, recommending them? They have notes like that here. It is a clean, well-lighted place with a relaxed, bookstore ambiance.
There was a note beside a lalalalalala which had the beads inside a light-blue plastic covering, washable I suppose; the note gave it a positive rating but the device ended in a handle that resembled too strongly for my taste the grip of a lawnmower starter cord which I found rather disturbing to put it mildly.

I finally talked to the saleslady about the massage oils for a while. Then to make conversation I asked her about the difference in usage of the lalalalalala and the lalalalalalala and her explanation was just marvelous. Knowledgeable without being lasvicious, hit just the right note of professionalism without sounding cold, managed to give a complete run-down without mentioning a single body part by name, but at the same time this did not sound prudish in the least.

When she said “bodily orifice” you wanted to chisel it in marble.

I browsed some more after that. The incense looked pretty good. They had some neat-looking restraints. I wasn’t too crazy about the books. I suppose, because of the traffic I was just not in the mood, but somehow nothing really screamed “stocking stuffer” at me. I picked out a bottle of lalalalala and drove back to work.