Don’t Knock the Knickknack

The two women, each confined to her own prison cell, leaned up against their cold, iron cages. They couldn’t see one another’s face, just their arms dangling through the prison cell bars.

“If I notice one more cell with Priscilla curtains hanging on the door, I’m gonna cut somebody real bad. And where’d she get the idea to knit beverage insulators for our tin cups? We can’t rattle them on the metal bars anymore during a riot!”

“Hey, we got it easy.  She’s in here for only five months. Think of the poor bitches on the outside!”

Apparently not everyone appreciated Martha’s decorating skills in the federal penitentiary.


I arrived home and jiggled the door key in the deadbolt. Whew! My long and tiring workday was about to end.

“Brand New Mattress Spring” conclusion: Erotica at Home Depot

hardware store
One day while eating lunch with coworkers in my company’s cafeteria, a staff member said she had bumped into a female co-worker and her boyfriend at Home Depot. A male employee at our table chuckled and commented sarcastically that a visit to a home improvement center seemed like an unwise destination for building a romantic relationship or a foundation for lasting intimacy.

Right then and there, during lunch, in front of his colleagues, I chastised the employee, placed him on immediate probation and red-flagged his personnel file. I took this harsh and swift action not because he was ridiculing a fellow employee but, instead, because he possessed poor judgment about home improvement centers and probably had other reckless opinions that could someday harm other men.

Places like Home Depot and Lowe's serve as extremely erotic venues for advancing the intimacy of relationships. In my opinion, it doesn’t even require any real imagination to make this connection. Consider the following items and their sensuous appeal: caulking gun (with a glass of pinot grigio, of course), vinyl-based spackling compound, wing nuts and toggle bolts, leaf blowers, duck tape (It’s spelled “duct” tape? Are you sure? Who would have guessed!), garden hose and anything that oscillates.

Please accept as fact that any place on earth, or in the galaxy, possesses erotic possibilities for husbands. I’ve been turned on at sanitary landfills, carpet stores, bait shops, cutlery outlets and year-round Christmas supply warehouses.

But no place beats home, where every closet, ceiling fan, crawl space, rafter, chimney and nook that's five square feet or larger presents an opportunity for love. And remember, lust is a slave to your imagination. How about in the kitchen, in July, next to the refrigerator with the freezer door open, as a threesome with the seven-foot tall plastic snowman, culminating with a reverse front somersault topped off with a handstand?


(next post: Don't Knock the Knickknacks)

New Mattress Spring, part three: “Code Orange Warnings about Room Selection”

If your home is similar to ours, then you have other places to choose from besides the bedroom for those steaming hot romantic interludes. Severe warnings, though, accompany each of these household spaces. Do not, and I find it necessary to repeat myself, do not get caught up in the throws of passion without hesitating, at least momentarily, to analyze each room and its unique danger:

bedroom photosThe Kitchen. Too many knives and scalding-hot waffle irons. I once knew a guy whose wife, during the climactic conclusion of a quickie near the matching cookie and spice jar set, grabbed a turkey thermometer from the countertop and buried it three and a half inches into her husband’s left ear.

The Bathroom. Seems safe? Wrong. One word. “Toilet.” Eventually, one of you will think about a time it backed up.

The Garage. Don’t even think about it. This is YOUR room. If you make love (to your wife; not to the leaf blower) in your tool castle, then part of that kingdom becomes the emotional property of your spouse. In less than a week, you’ll find scented potpourri near your belt sander and a dried-flower-fancy-ribbon-thing hanging from your weed whacker.

The Spare Bedroom. Just for a change of pace, right? Come on! Haven’t you learned anything yet? Remember who previously slept in there? Relatives, like your parents and in-laws! They might as well just hop on your bare back and ride along because their poltergeists remain in the mattresses for up to 19 months.

The Return Air Ventilation Shaft. I know – technically not a room. But avoid the temptation of this space. While it’s tantalizing to feel the cool air rush past your perspiring bodies as they’re jammed inside the vent, remember that the filters contain tiny, microscopic particles that, if inhaled, could burst a lung. And that could be a turn-off, depending upon your standards, if you have standards.


(next week: Mattress Spring conclusion and Erotica at Home Depot)

Brand New Mattress Spring, part two: “Accessories and Cannonballs”

Okay, let’s start with s-e-x basics.
Pirate parrot

First and foremost, be careful what you import into the bedroom. You’re safe with a lit candle, one rose of any color, a Barry White medley and a glass of white wine (red wine is too risky because it might imply that you’re concerned about heart disease). However, memorize the following list of props and devices that should never be brought into the sleeping chamber, unless accompanied by powerful narcotics: hand-held mirrors, spurs (official equestrian riding crops are acceptable), small undomesticated critters, a foreign-speaking tour bus driver, a Black & Decker infrared stud finder, salsa, a Mattel Jedi Knight light saber (it’s redundant), bullhorn, bungee cord and a life-sized Incredible Hulk doll that you explain she should ravish to give you a break.

Of course, in this mixed-up, confused world of ours, it’s perfectly acceptable for her to bring any of those items into the bedroom.

Here’s another tip. Don’t be afraid to take advantage of unusual, short-term circumstances. For instance, while playing basketball at the YMCA with a group of old guys, one of the geezers poked me in the eye and scratched my cornea. An ophthalmologist shined a bright light into my eye, recommended that I wear a patch over it and mailed me a $375 bill. My neighbor Harold, who kills termites for a living, could have given me the same thorough medical assessment while requiring only a Big Mac super-sized meal for compensation.

Anyway, after I arrived home, my wife stared at me all evening and finally confessed that she liked my pirate impersonation. I asked her seductively, but half kiddingly, if she wanted to be blindfolded and raise my mast. She didn’t flinch! We swapped a few smarmy remarks that incorporated the words “cannonballs” and “treasure chest” and dashed upstairs to our bedroom. All in all, the evening steamed. But at times, I felt a little too much pressure to perform with the parrot digging his claws into my left shoulder and repeating everything I said, including the moans.


(next week: “Mattress Spring” continued with Code Orange Warnings about Room Selection)