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The Bigger The Barry, The Bigger The Grin By Indie |
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Meet Barry.
Barry is the boyfriend that you have in between boyfriends.
Barry is the boyfriend you have secretly behind your boyfriends
back. Boyfriends come and
go, but Barry ‘comes’ forever.
Well, as long as the batteries last, anyway. Barry is a girl’s best friend.
Barry
was born, into our lives anyway, about two years ago, when chance and
boredom found SnowBunny and I in a local ‘adult’ shop.
Having
played with the ‘Gigantor’ 12 incher, squeezed the end very
pointedly of the ‘almost lifelike’ 8 incher (most men would wish it
were ‘almost lifelike), had fights with the ‘Luke Skywalker’ one
with real flashing lights, and giggled over the one that looked like
Arthur from the National Lottery, SnowBunny settled on a pink, glittery,
nine inch pal. And promptly
named him Barry. I
don’t know where the name came from.
The only Barry I can recall from memory is ‘Big Barry’, the
bus driver on a school trip to Ypres.
Would she really name her new best friend after a grey bearded,
6ft 6 socially intolerant bus driver?
I had to wonder. Eight
months later, we found our way into an Ann Summer party. Are you pondering what I’m pondering Pinky?
Can you see this haze of sleaze following us around like some
foul stench, because I can? Anyway,
Ann Summers bound we were, and jolly with wine.
And there purchased I a Barry of mine own, dubbed The Purple
Warrior by Snowbunny. Because
it is purple and… God only knows where she got the warrior part.
It’s waterproof, but I don’t think that comes into the
equation, if you’ll pardon the loose pun.
My sister bought a large black one, named, originally, Vibes. SnowBunny, the jammy bitch, won herself a little pocket plastic buddy in a sleazy game, and not a moment too soon. Barry had succumbed to a power failure due to excess moisture. Nope, I didn't want to know either. Unfortunately, the new (improved?) Barry is a rather noisy beast, and had to have paper wrapped around the batteries inside to stop it from giving the game away. the things we women have to do... I’ve asked around the girls I know have a Barry. They’ve all given them names. Maybe it’s a chick thing – we have to name our things. We name our cars, we name our dolls, we name our teddy bears; I once had a spin dryer called Eric. Naming things gives us power and control over them. Pity it doesn't work with boyfriends... Naming Barrys gives us a fake boyfriend if you're lacking. Plus it's a fun code to use with your friends, especially when you're in a crowd of people WHO DON'T KNOW: Indie: What you at tonight? SnowBunny: I'm having a night in with Barry? Unknown Random: I thought your boyfriend was called Paul/Adrian/Steve? SnowBunny/Indie: [Giggle, giggle, giggle] Whatever
reason we give them names, we love our Barrys, our Purple Warriors, our
(sometimes) pocket-sized friends. They
might make us go cross-eyed, but at least we’d be smiling. |
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| © Indie | |
