Last week, I was heading to a restaurant in Berkeley with my trusty pal Joyce. We were going to grab dinner at the Indian place. Telegraph Avenue was fairly deserted– it was about 9:30 at night– but that didn’t stop a Berkeley street rat from finding and accosting us. This one, however, offered something slightly different.
“Hey…” he began. “Are you guys interested in some psychedelic–”
I was expecting him to finish the sentence with “mushrooms” or something like that. I was not expecting the next two words he actually said:
I bought two. Joyce and I each now have our very own psychedelic vagina necklace.
They were these little bi-colored, diamond-shaped fimo clay situations. The really cool thing is that he carefully chose them for us: mine was gray and cream-colored, to perfectly match the jacket I was wearing that had gray and cream colored diamonds. I won’t speculate on his reasoning for choosing Joyce’s, but hers was tiny and pink.
Incidentally– he forgot the clit.