what if i don’t want to sing songs about shaking my booty anymore

I suppressed a cringe as my fingers carefully parted the edges of the poinsettia-festooned wrapping paper to reveal the gift inside. The color, a decidedly unfashionable beige hue, was not one I would have chosen, and the size would likely have been too small had I received it the year previous. My disappointment, however, was overshadowed by guilt as I imagined Grandmother having taken such care to select it, even hand-lettering the attached note in her unsteady calligraphy. If this was to be her last Christmas with us, as the doctors had been sure, we all had a role to play in showing her our appreciation. “Try it out!” someone exhorted in a voice thick from brandy-touched egg nog, negating any possibility that I might later quietly exchange it for something more suited to my taste. Politely I feigned excitement as I pushed the vibrator’s switch to the highest speed setting and vigorously worked my hole as the entire family watched.


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