01 March 2009

Thanks, You're a Peach!

In an age when marginally intelligible text messages pass for acceptable communication, some of the more graceful and genteel forms of communication are all but forgotten. There was once the language of flowers, volumes spoken by the flashing of a ladie's fan, even simple hand written letters...and that quaint custom of the thank you note, these days seemingly preserved only within wedding etiquette.

I, myself, can't remember the last time I wrote a thank you note, but I now find myself compelled to do so publicly. I am afraid it is a little overdue, but, better late than never? And I'm sure the intended recipient will forgive my inadvertent slight.

So, my thank-you note:

Some time ago, I posted a blog (Perfect Pitch) regarding a mishap with my Tool Box and some toys with minds of their own. About a week later I received an email from a young gentleman who is a self-proclaimed "fan" and has been following my blog for some time.
It was titled "How to avoid perfect pitch".
He told me his job requires him to travel quite a bit, and that he finds comfort in my blog, that it reminds him of home.

Yeah, I was a little puzzled and skeptical as well.

He went on to write that he had thought of a way to thank me for having entertained him all these months.

Hmmm....again, skeptical, and a more than a little afraid...

It all turned out to be fairly innocuous, though. He works making hand-blown glass and has made a few "special commission" pieces for friends. He reassured me that, while not in the habit of offering free glass sex toys to strangers, he figured it was not the strangest offer I'd ever received via the blog.

Unfortunately, he was right.

Did I think it too strange? he asked.

Quality, custom glass pieces are expensive. It was one of the few items missing from my Tool Box.

Are you kidding? I wrote back. A custom glass piece made just for me by a self-proclaimed fan? I'd be honored!

And so to my next conundrum...

Neither my mother nor Emily Post ever had anything useful to say regarding the etiquette for telling a perfect stranger about my Dream Dildo.

He suggested that I email him photos of pieces I liked or that I describe what I wanted.

A few days later he emailed me photos of the two pieces he had made for me, designed to my specifications.

Just beautiful!

I was not going to have him mail them to my home address. I gave him my phone number so we could coordinate a meeting on safe territory--- my work.
When the call actually came, I was, admittedly, nervous, but with plenty of co-workers around, I felt confident that I would be well looked after. I also have the good fortune to work someplace where this type of exchange might not seem all that out of place.

The staff alerted, I wandered downstairs to meet my admirer.

He was a slight figure, not at all threatening. A little shy in fact, though respectful and friendly. He set a small gift bag down on the table and I heard a rather hefty *clunk*. We chatted a bit while I removed the decorative tissue wrap as surreptitiously as I could from each piece.

Whoah! I exclaimed as I felt the heft of the larger piece.

"Oh, yeah, that one kind of got away from me. It turned out kind of big." he said sheepishly. He'd made a second one in case the first didn't turn out. "You can have them both."

He was actually a very interesting fellow. He told me about his work and his travels, and I had the opportunity to ask him what he meant when he said my blog reminded him of home.

"It's just such a Portland thing..." he said.
Heh... I guess I'd never really thought about it that way.
He mentioned telling people about the blog, trying to explain that "it's about sex, but it isn't...really". And I couldn't help but smile because that is how I often struggle to explain it to people as well. In fact it's become a barometer of sorts; I know what kind of person I'm dealing with, depending on what they think my blog's about.
He gets it.

We smoked a cigarette while we chatted some more.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work," he said politely as we finished our smokes.

I thanked him again.

"Just keep writing them...I'll keep reading them!" he called out as he walked away.

And that was the end of that.
Not an email, not a phone call since.
Just a genuine gift...my faith in humanity momentarily restored by a pair of glass dildos.

Thanks, C----, you're a peach!

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