Warning: If you are related to me, work with me, or are easily offended by TMI, please do not read this blog post. Thanks.

For those who want to know, my vibrator is on her last leg, and so the time has finally come for us to part. It’s sad. Though it can be a secretive, skittish subject, I felt like a proper eulogy before her burial was an appropriate way to honor our time together.


“Every little thing she does is magic.”

I think Sting was talking about you, my wonderful wand.

We were together for 7 years after meeting at a boozy sorority sex toy party. You were hard not to notice: the life of the party. All the girls wanted you. Normally I would be too shy and nervous to commit. (You were my first.) But thanks to hefty servings of boxed wine, I picked you up and took you home. I’ll admit that I was distant initially and left you idly waiting, hidden away between my mattress and box springs. But the more my friends raved about you, the more I figured you were worth getting to know. And they were right. It was love at first lonely night.

Soon you became a best friend, a travel buddy, a constant companion – the reason for my slight panic every time we passed through airport security. Together we endured all of life’s high’s and low’s, through long distance crushes, heartbreak, and that one weird/wild Vegas trip. A surprise lunch date after a stressful meeting could brighten my whole day, and a movie night at home together helped me skip that second serving of popcorn.


Some may have mistaken you for a dental instrument or toothbrush holder (making you perfectly incognito to the cleaning lady), but to me, you were so much more. As my magic wand, you turned an average moment into sudden elation. Every time we hung out, I left feeling more relaxed, more confident and more inspired. You put the ‘sex’ in asexual. You protected me from potential douchebags and illegitimate one-night stands. You taught me that it’s okay to indulge in yourself every once in a while.

Sure, there were other bigger, stronger, more advanced models out there, but you were all I needed. I enjoyed your simplicity and reliability. Honestly, I’ll miss feeling like a sketchball on routine trips to the gas station next door when setting a pack of AAA batteries on the counter. And I’ll think of you every time I reach for the remote and instinctively wonder if the batteries are missing due to a moment of desperation.

So, it’s with a heavy heart that I say goodbye. I know you would want me to move on and find magic with a new bedside gadget, but I’ll always love you, my purple friend. Because as the Sting song says:

“Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on.”