On a whim (I picked up the phone instead of screening the call) recently I participated in a telephone survey, where I was sent a particular magazine on a certain day, and asked to read the magazine for a minimum of 15 minutes. I had to fill out some forms before-hand and afterwards, which had to do with consumer choices. The next day after receiving the magazine I was surveyed via phone about products, advertising and a couple of the articles, but I’m afraid I probably wasn’t much help–Interviewer: “What brand of facial cleanser do you use?” Me: “Uhhhhh. None. Wait, you mean like soap?” It was a magazine I might pick up and browse through in a waiting room, or sneak a peak at in my parents’ living room (because if they spot you reading it they’ll assume you want a gift subscription to it for Christmas, so watch where your eyes roam or what your hand brushes or you’ll end up getting Reader’s Digest for the next five years, which I only figured out a few years ago does not include complete stories, but I totally kick ass at the Word Power), but not one I would ever buy (there was one little helpful make-up hints article where this guy was saying “your eyes should look like Gerber daisies!”).
Anyway, there was one little blurb in the magazine on this woman who gives Taser Parties. I’ve been intrigued ever since. It’s not like a party where you go around tasing people, as fun as that sounds, but about self-defense, set-up something like a Tupperware party, or make-up, or the most recent girl-party I personally attended, one that featured a mind-numbing (well, maybe not mind…) amount of what an old friend used to call “marital aids.” A sticky good time was had by a-a-a-a-all!
I was telling Joe about the Taser Parties and he promptly volunteered to be zapped. At our hypothetical party. Which I refused to do–I wouldn’t want to hurt my husband, even if he did ask! But we did toyingly consider Nathan, figuring he’d probably already done it (rightly so, it turns out, because we asked if he would let us tase him, hypothetically). Run, Nathan, run!! But it must really hurt, or it wouldn’t be effective, right? A couple years ago we were at a friend’s house where they had one of those heavy-duty, hand-held, bug zappers that looks like a racket and I was overcome with curiosity to see how much it would hurt to be zapped by basically a battery-operated fly swatter. I was warned by all, but still had to see for myself and casually, cockily, bopped it on the end of my unshod foot where it instantly melted a hole in my tights and burnt my big toe, much to everyone’s amusement and my yowling surprise. I have no desire to experience the awesome fire-power of the civilian-issue taser, thank you very much. Give me a good marital aid any day, I say!
But in the right environment, I could see where the comfort and security of being armed with a taser would be a very welcome thing. Plus, I’ve been racking my brain for the perfect Mother’s Day gift, and can so see my mom packing a leopard-print taser in its matching holster next time she visits the big-bad city of Seattle.