This guy is still fully committed to selling us
this...thing; sensing our proclivity for humour he went with it. ‘You know,
it’s just like a real woman...except she won’t tell you to go and do the
washing up afterwards.’ Now this was funny and I appreciated it, however IT was
on a somewhat different tangent of interpretation; when we had first met many
years before he had described himself as: ‘half Frank Spencer, half Norman Bates’
and I have never found a reason to disagree with this in the most wonderful
way. IT suggested that he would quite like a woman to ask him to go and do the
washing up afterwards - I think because of his long standing single status and
not any kind of fairy liquid based fetish. Mr Greedy laughs as do I, but I feel
the reality of IT’s words more than him.
Our globular acquaintance, trying to push our laughter
further into a place where our money fell into his hands, followed up with a gag
about never keeping the thing in the boot of your car, ‘just in case’, and
somewhere along the line he utters the word dismembered, which although fairly
absurd and comical, doesn’t conjure up the image of sexual bliss. He was
skirting on the apex, his humour was curdling before our eyes and we started to
shuffle our feet and cross our arms, and in his ignorance he ploughed further
into that rut. I politely suggested to him that in future he probably shouldn't
use the word dismembered in his sales pitch.
At this point my memory has been mingled somewhat with the decay
of fermented white noise within but the next thing that I remember is the
portly gentleman discussing how his mother-in-law had dementia, he was obviously
losing it, desperately searching for any reason to sell us this thing –I call
this kind of strange conversational tick the IT effect; it was most definitely
something IT said that swayed the discussion on this new and unprecedented
route. Here is Mr Greedy’s story:
‘My mother-in-law has dementia, she got on ok on her own for
many years, but now she’s in one of them homes. It’s funny ‘cause sometimes she
doesn’t even know who her own daughter is’. He suddenly puffed up his chest,
‘she always remembers me though – always without fail. She always had a twinkle
in her eye for me, I think it’s because I was a bit of a lad’. He was
insinuating that his virility somehow had the ability to overcome serve
degenerative mental disorders and who were we to argue. Noticing our moderate
unease at his revelation, he added, ‘I never had sex with her though’.
I don’t want to seem unkind and remember I am a romantic,
but this guy did look like he was literally moments away from the Guinness
World Records team entering the building and congratulating him on having
become the most unsightly man on the planet; so disclosure concerning any kind
of reproductive activity, with family members or otherwise, seemed somewhat
unsavoury.
I mean he was really trying to sell us this thing and in
fact there was a moment during the previous story that Ian and myself looked at
each other with expressions that said – are we actually going to have to buy
this thing? So maybe this guy did know what he was doing. But just the thought
of finding that thing in the back of a wardrobe in years to come made sure we
stood firm. He seemed to sense this too and moved on to what he thought was a
more achievable goal the possibly more bizarre looking inflatable sex dolls. ‘I
mean, [the dismembered sex doll] is definitely our top seller but a lot of
people buy these too’. To please him we each took one from a peg to mull over the
ridiculus bloated inflatable with that mouth they all have which looks so
painful. I can’t remember who but IT or myself pointed out a particular doll
based on a nubile young...lady called Mia Isabella. At an attempt at being
subtle let’s just say she had very broad shoulders and something a little extra
than the others – maybe now isn’t the time to become subtle – it was a chick
with a dick, except the ‘dick’ was more like sad brown off cut form a bouncy
castle. I wondered whether at Madame Tussauds they make sure every part of the
body is anatomically correct; it’s just that you never get to see that part of
the sculpture. Mr greedy made one final push to get through no-man’s-land:
‘No no it’s very popular – if you like that sort of thing, I
mean, I’ve never used it, but we get good comments. There are always these’. He
pointed to another row of products, it turned out they were vibrating cock
rings, but his badinage had lost all its former lustre and we unconsciously
contorted our bodies into the words: ‘thank you for your information vendor but
will you please go away now’. Being ever perceptive to our silent wishes he
did, we had machine gunned him down and he now lay in a bundle of mud and
barbed wire in the abyss, which was one of the only fetishes not catered for I
believe. We looked around, we laughed some more, then we left with sloppy grins
and a good story to go and talk economics with some chums in The Whisky Room at
the Athaneum Hotel, not really. We simply wandered out into the night contemplating
those hero’s grappling with the sorrows of the Sex Doll.
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