As someone who once did a stint writing sex toy reviews, I started out as a rookie but at this point in my aging, former-MILF career, know my way around the vibrational genre. Probably a decade ago someone told me I needed to get “The Magic Wand” because there was no comparison. (Note this article isn’t sponsored by them). I remember chalking up something like $79 that I couldn’t afford but saw as an investment.
The investment paid off. That wand, nicknamed “Cottage Lovah” in honor of the SNL Love-ahs skit with Will Ferrell and Rachel Dratch was kept at the island cottage where I worked and lived part time for a decade; it saw a lot. I don’t know much about electricity as it relates to powerful hand-held electronic devices, but what I envision is that if you looked at the island from above, what you’d see is the power grid dimming ever so slightly when it was in use. It’s blown out the electric to more than one outlet, including the one where I live now that eventually permanently took its decade-young life one stormy evening. That night I realized (through the testing of many other outlets) that it was gone forever.
No amount of CPR would fix it, and in retrospect, with the violent amount of flicking of the power buttons on it that I did, I could’ve refocused that energy and not needed electronics at all, but I was distraught. This faithful servant had given its final O, after doing all the “back massaging” the advertising it said it would do (absolutely none), and I was lost for a long time. Why? Well, the original Hitachi Magic Wand wasn’t sold on Amazon anymore. I couldn’t navigate at first through all the knockoff brands trying to figure out which one to replace it with.
In the meantime, in relaying the dilemma to a friend, it was suggested that my “kitchen appliance” taste in vibrators was outdated and perhaps I should consider more modern, much smaller, USB-chargeable options. I did. They were inferior. The power? Weak. What am I, trying to run a Mercedes on 2 AA batteries? The weird controls, giving more intermittent-options than an overly caffeinated competitive suburban Christmas lawn display? No thanks. Let’s keep it simple. My lady garden doesn’t speak in Morse code.
I suffered through a few months of cycling through the latest in terrible Made-in-China products, eventually settling by default on the innocent high-end massage gun purchased after my elbow surgery. Not having been engineered for this purpose exactly, it did at least come with multiple attachments, as dangerous as some of them turned out to be: the high RPMs may or may not have left an open wound on my inner thigh and burn marks on my sheets. Setting the bed on fire wasn’t an option, so I tried to find the original Magic Wand again. I found that the Hitachi brand had changed its name to Vibratex (on Amazon anyway), and that a new one cost $100, but importantly it was now available in a rechargeable option. Sold. When it arrived I wouldn’t say I cried tears of joy, but let’s just say it was quite a relief to have the dry spell end.
I used the box from the new let’s-not-pretend-this-will-ever-be-a-back-massager as a coffin for the old one. I could hear a tiny sigh of relief from my massage gun (and the fire company) who were clearly relieved it was returned to its original packaging-intended URL-safe listed purpose. It was a sad little funeral, saying goodbye to another that you’ve been connected to for so long. Thanks for the memories, lovah.