I Accidentally Left My Vibrator At The Dry Cleaners And It Helped Me Get Over My Hang-Ups

Really I don’t know what’s more embarrassing -- giving my vibrator to the laundry man, or the fact that it only took me four minutes to realize it was gone.

Aug 29, 2014 at 3:00pm | Leave a comment

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I wasn’t even in a hurry. I’d had a lazy, relaxing Saturday and in effort to feel like I did something remotely productive, I decided to take my sheets off my bed and drop my laundry off at the dry cleaners across the street.
 
Note: If you don’t live in New York, this sounds like something only a jerk would do, but I swear it’s a common and practical thing that even members of the proletariat do here. I then walked back to my apartment and within four minutes, as I was pouring a glass of water, I just went, “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No. No. No. Please no,” out loud to the air. 
 
I ran to my room and scrambled and searched everything before finally confirming that I had indeed accidentally left my vibrator in my sheets -- my sheets that would soon be in the hands of a total stranger. As someone who enjoys a little joke to break up the monotony of my own work day, I immediately imagined some prankster running around showing everyone my battery-powered toy in a crazed, maniacal stupor. Playing hot potato with it! The biggest joke of the day! The horror!
 
I must add that my dry cleaner place has an ALL-MALE staff for some reason.
 
I mean they are all super nice and friendly but every time I go in there (for the past two years!), I swear to you, they are all laughing in unison. I try to tell myself that maybe it’s because they are high or just really good comedians, but in truth, I always get low-level nervous right before I walk in. I always just wonder if I have ketchup on my face or if they hate my underwear or something. 
 
Really though, I don’t know what’s more embarrassing -- giving my vibrator to all the laundry men, or the fact that it only took me four minutes to realize it was gone. 
 
I know your first question: “What kinda piece we talkin’ here, Blair?”
 
Luckily, for the embarrassment levels of all parties involved, it wasn’t a giant Hulk green knobbed dildo or anything like that -- although, that would have been way cooler for this story. No. It’s a super modest, light pink, unsuspecting little gizmo -- sleek with smooth lines. Understated, a Charlotte, a ballerina, or a Cate Blanchett. 
 
Now, lots of fearless sexually realized New York women would probably not even bat an eyelash at this. I would like to be like one of these gals. But I’m not (yet).
 
Though I’m a standup comic, I can still be pretty shy and embarrassed off stage. I grew up in a really conservative city -- in a really conservative, Italian Catholic family (my parents are thrilled about my career path!). I was never given a sex talk and to this day, I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation about it with anyone in my family. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I have older brothers and am the youngest and only girl. I am thankful for my brothers though because guess what? I tolerate getting made fun of really well. 
 
However, growing up, I always felt a real “don’t shame this family” vibe that I took seriously. As a result, I’ve always been pretty modest with a little sister type of demeanor, even usually dressing in such a way as to not draw attention to my being a girl. Thankfully, moving to New York, in combination with getting older, and being in comedy, have all helped me to open up and get more comfortable with myself as a confident adult woman. 
 
Even so, I was mortified that I accidentally gave my vibrator to the dry cleaners. 
 
But when I find myself in the eye of the storm, I usually try to scratch and claw until I learn something. As friends I texted after the incident told me, this was going to be a healthy thing for me.
 
I was going to become a woman! 
 
I talked about the ordeal on stage, and I would psyche myself up every day to go get the laundry, but then continued to let the days pass by without picking it up. I just had so much anxiety about facing the laughing men.
 
My friends lovingly kept at me: “Jesus Christ, you are a 27-year-old adult!” 
 
I let a week and a half go by until I really and truly ran out of clothes.
 
Finally, I decided that I had to pick it up and promised myself that no matter what, I would handle it. I even strategized about potentially laughing like a crazy person in order to confuse them and make them reverse uncomfortable. In the end, I called my friend and stayed on the phone as I paid my bill and waited. I chatted nervously before he eventually handed me my bag -- and then, he winked at me. 
 
Maybe it was a benevolent wink, maybe it was a vibrator wink, who knows. But I looked straight ahead and walked out with my bag of clothes and tricks, leaving my weird repressed sex ideals behind with the laughing dudes. 
 
“Who cares about anything!” I thought, as I smiled on the street with joy. When I opened the laundry bags later, there I found the vibrator, tucked between some towels like a little peaceful baby. A most merciful universe! All of my anguish had been in vain.
 
Most importantly, I was reminded that the worrying leading up to something is almost always way worse than the actual event. 
 
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You can find Blair and her tribulations on Twitter here.