NSFW content warning: Mr. Dependable and the Suburban Housewife

When Jay Van Andel and Richard DeVos founded what would become Amway in 1959, I don't think they ever imagined their sales model would be utilized to sell sex toys to suburban housewives.

And yet, in 1993, proud Buckeye Patty Brisben gave birth to Pure Romance, a multi-level marketing company devoted to spreading the good news of vibrators, flavored lubes and light bondage to America's soccer moms. 

Over wine and Diet Cokes, women watch their hostess try to say things like "G spot" and "prostate massager" without giggling. She attempts to demonstrate the products in the most G-rated fashion possible, and passes the collection of wands, clit stimulators and masturbation sleeves around for everyone to admire. Then, when the party's over, she takes any interested parties into a "private" room so she can take your order. 

Of course, going to a Pure Romance party can prove to be a tad more awkward than going to, say, a Tastefully Simple party. See, you don't attend a Pure Romance part with a bunch of strangers. You invite your friends, your co-workers ... your family. Not so uncomfortable when you're perusing dip mixes and casserole dishes. But when you're pondering whether your current toy selection is giving you the best orgasm possible, you'd rather be anywhere else than sitting beside Aunt Sally, who is looking at a pocket pussy for your Uncle Frank.

Which brings me to this: My future sister-in-law hosted a Pure Romance party for a select few family members as a trial run. Now, yes, this is weird. I admit this. And I had every opportunity to say "no thank you." But, my friends, I have never once turned down an invitation to a shit show, so by golly, I went.

Now, to be honest, most of the details concerning this event are unremarkable and fuzzy. We all took our places on the loveseat and sectional. We dutifully listened to the details of each product, which started out mundane and gradually increased in, uh, intensity, as it were. What I do remember quite clearly is this:

At one point, our hostess introduced Mr. Dependable: a purple, girthy dong that was fitted with a suction cup so you could attach it to any suitable surface and ride it to your heart's content. She enthusiastically affixed it to the wall, which was adorned with your typical suburban Americana decor. Nothing says "Live, Laugh, Love" like an enormous disembodied dick. 

We all marveled at its size and ability to stay put (unlike some exes, am I right ladies and gents?), and then our hostess moved on to the next product. And the next. And the next. And finally, after about an hour of pitching pleasure toys, Christy announced it was time for a break. Almost on cue, my future brother-in-law and 5-year-old niece emerged from the basement. 

Just one minor problem. 

There, still clinging proudly to the wall was Mr. Dependable, protruding almost an entire 6 inches from the wall. It is unnatural in color, it is veiny, and it is not going anywhere. And, of course, I'm the only one who notices. So, before sweet, innocent Olivia could cast her pure gaze upon this purple monstrosity, I seized it and dislodged it with a POP! from the wall. 

That took care of one problem. But now instead of hanging from the wall, Mr. Dependable was firmly in my grasp. I strode over, dropped the dong behind the toy table and went in for some snacks. Calamity averted!

I'm pretty sure I purchased something from that party, but nothing too scandalous. I am in no way a prude, but I don't want anyone I'm not having sex with even briefly imagining what I'd be doing with a dual-action rabbit late at night. Or in the morning. Or, whenever.

I will say this for Pure Romance: It helps normalize sexual pleasure and sexual health for suburban moms. Even in the 21st century, too many women believe that their sexual needs stop after they give birth. Learning what you like and having the implements to achieve it available is, if you'll excuse the expression, a powerful tool. 

But maybe, just maybe, in this era of COVID, we can find ways to keep sex in the conversation without dealing with mental images of Aunt Sally pegging Uncle Frank.