Opinion | Biff America: A blowhard friend
I could have bought the most expensive inflatable sex doll the store had to offer. After all, it was not my money. But being fiscally prudent, I took it upon myself to seek out the best bang for the buck and buy a cheaper model. And I must say, the wear and tear from a decade in the garage was a testimonial to its poor quality.
Perhaps I should back up a little.
About 10 years ago, I was commissioned to have a promotional photo taken for an East Coast publication.
The photo editor thought it would be funny to have a picture of me sitting at my computer, the mountains as a backdrop and scattered around me would be skis, boots and a clutter of various outdoor recreational gear.
When I told him I could have a local photographer come to my home, take the photos and email an invoice and photos to him, he was delighted.
Almost as an afterthought he said, “Just for grins, in a few of the shots place an inflatable doll way in the background, maybe propped up in the corner. Don’t make it obvious, and make sure you take lots of shots with it not included.”
When I explained that I didn’t own an inflatable doll, he seemed doubtful, but told me to buy one and invoice him the cost.
One would think that it might be necessary to travel to one of those Front Range inflatable doll chain stores to purchase such a product. Not so. Not only was I able to find a great selection up here in the mountains, but the stores guaranteed to meet or beat Denver prices.
The sales girl, after listening to my explanation why I needed the doll, (she seemed doubtful) showed me several products with various features. When I picked the least expensive model, the clerk cautioned me that the doll in question would not hold up to rough use.
“You might want to spend a little more cash and get a more durable doll,” she said before adding, “And on this product, we have a no return policy.” (Which seems reasonable.)
I will say one thing for that sales lady, she knew her inventory. The doll barely held air through an hourlong photo session.
As per the photo editor’s suggestion, we had it propped up in the corner. Before long, the doll developed poor posture, due to leaking and began to slump. Soon after, her legs buckled, and she hit the ground.
Truth is, I bought the cheapest doll because I assumed I’d throw it away once the shoot was completed. There was no room in my life for another woman.
My wife had other ideas. “Let’s put her in our garden like a scarecrow,” she said.
I didn’t want to bring up the letters we’d been receiving from our homeowners association regarding our toilet-bowl planter. Rather, I mentioned the doll’s leakage issues. My mate looked at me and said with conviction, “We can patch her.”
If anyone had entered our bathroom while Ellen and I were trying to force a blow-up dummy under the water in the tub to locate the leaks, they might have thought we were committing mannequin murder.
It turned out the leak was unrepairable.
I searched the plastic replica to see if there was a recycling designation number that would allow me to place dummy in curbside recycling. There was none.
That being the case, I decided to store the doll in the garage and then secretly place her in my neighbor’s trash after dark — in case the trash man could not keep a secret.
To make a long story short, I forgot all about her and finally stumbled upon my old friend last week while cleaning out the garage. I was on a step ladder trying to pull some ski poles off a high shelf, and she slid with them and landed over my shoulder. I have to say, the past decade has been kinder to her face than it has been to mine.
My mate was gone, so rather than revisit the scarecrow conversation, I quickly carried her to the trash bin I had just placed out on the street. I was in the process of stuffing the doll, feet first, in the bin when my neighbor drove by with his kids and gave me a double-take look.
So, I guess I won’t expect an invitation to their Christmas party.
Jeffrey Bergeron’s column “Biff America” publishes Mondays in the Summit Daily News. Bergeron has worked in TV and radio for more than 30 years, and his column can be read in several newspapers and magazines. He is the author of “Mind, Body, Soul.” Bergeron arrived in Breckenridge when there was plenty of parking and no stop lights. Contact him at email@example.com.
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