Strap-ons...with knobs on

In true Sapphic fashion, spouse and I were browsing in a large electrical DIY store lately. We were deliberating over men's watches (the type with so many knobs dials you never quite figure out their purpose). As any self-respecting lesbian will know, there's a lot to weigh up when choosing any kind of strap-on.

Lover (well, spouse) has always hated shopping, after prolonged periods she begins looking physically ill. Her shopping aversion becomes psychosomatisised and we are forced to squeeze past queues (lines) in an emergency exit. (They never have a not-bought-anything-but-not-stolen-anything-either official exit do they?) Anyhow, lover, well spouse, was looking distinctly peaky so I was trying to do my usual weighing-up at high speed (as a Libran, no decision can be entered into without an exhaustive evaluation of pros and cons- I take the Sherlock Holmes approach1 as a life philosophy rather than fictional detective strategy.)

To cut to the chase, something that now feels too late to do, but never mind I'll edit an earlier paragraph as a footnote and no-one will ever know...
Likely timepieces are draped in our hand, I am deliberating over price-quality proportionality issues and worrying they might break (a slang term for which is "go down" in the UK from where I hail) and venture...

"Well...it might go down2 on you."

Lover (quick as a flash):
"Well if it does that too I'm definitely getting it."

1
Sherlock Holmes/ Arthur Conan Doyle approach
Once you have exhausted the impossible, then all that remains is the probable. (Incidentally, this is how I consoled myself over a string of incompatible mating choices over a period in the '90s... a case of one's soulmate being the only other fish in the sea who is preoccupied with a piece of fluorescent seaweed or some other flotsam and jetsam of fate. One a similar note, when I first met Lover, well Spouse, it was love at first sight and one of the impulses I fought against was simply walking over and saying "You're late", I had after all been waiting my whole life in love with the promise of her while the only fish-in-the-sea-for-me was admiring seaweed somewhere else.)

2
Go down:
- Oral sex (munnsex in Norwegian, which always makes me smile, the term I meant although the Freudian slip is a valid one ;)
- To break (colloq.), according to the principles of Sod's law, and always as a result of Hobson's choice.

Footnote:
Pedantry:
Buying Oxford Concise English Dictionary followed by an irresistible urge to labour every point (sotospeak)

Dip me in chocolate and put me in the sales

There are two types of lesbian- shopping ones, like me, and non-shopping ones and we tend to pair up with the opposite- apropos the laws of attraction and then sheer practical feasibility.

My other half has to be virtually abducted and taken to changing rooms against her will. January sales for her are akin perhaps to unblocking a sink- practical and good once done maybe, but unpleasant. For me, an empty changing room and a pile of affordable bargains is like winning one of Willy Wonka's Golden tickets and then discovering that Angelina Jolie likes to bathe naked in the chocolate river.

I literally salivate, with the conditioning of a Pavlovian dog at the sight of those red tickets. Nurture rather than nature, by extrapolation, would be the origins of my desire for marked down goods and my faulty logic, whereby I save when I spend. My subconscious is multilingual: as well as Sale, it responds to Salg and Solde (sale means dirty in French, maybe my partner has a point, but then salé means salty and therefore sexy: Ms Jolie swims back into view). I know I'm mixing my nature and my nurture here, but oestrogen and adrenalin is a heady mix.

Now here's the gender-bending crux of it: for me, finding a reduced T-shirt, dragging it to the changing room, with all the frenzied stripping that ensues and carrying it home has a faint Neanderthal resonance somehow: I want to parade around with my trophy yelping "mine all mine". This is a primeval throwback and explains the wild look some women can get at the end of a season. After all, what is shopping if not hunter-gathering?