Mishap with the anterior pleasure harness over the weekend. Let’s not get into details. All you really need to know is it wasn’t performing as promised and this resulted in a pulled hamstring and a humiliating conclusion to the evening’s festivities. That’s all I’m saying. I will not paint you a word-picture.

The good news is I once again succumbed to the silvertongue’d clerk at Best Buy and once again went for the stupid extended-coverage warrantee (“Isn’t the safety of you and your significant other worth a few extra measly bucks?”) (I know, who says measly), and so was able to return it. And believe you me it’d been well-used by that point. Semi-colon, close parens.

The bad news is I had to fill out this huge form and then endure a formal interview with Amy, a Best Buy Customer Carer [sic]. She goes: “Do you go on record saying that you used the device according to the instruction manual provided in PDF format [sic] on the included CD-ROM?” And so I have to launch into this whole thing about human sexual response and how consistent adherence to dictated rules can, in some scenarios, have the opposite effect than what was intended, and surely the manufacturers — who have clearly done some really solid focus-group work with their target audience — understand that and encourage creative and out-of-box applications of their products, etc.

And Amy says: “I am extremely familiar with human sexual response, but I’m compelled to point out page 34 of the manual, which explicitly lists the items that are forbidden by the FDA to use in conjunction with this product, and look here, what does it say right here in the top spot?” And I say: “I don’t know how to read.” And she says: “It says extra-virgin olive oil.” And she just looks at me. And I look at her, and then I’m all: “Well do I get my refund or what.” And Amy says: “You get store credit.”

I stocked up on power strips and hot stone massage DVDs. At the door I fished through the bright yellow bag to find the receipt — it is my duty as a consumer to confirm that I have been accurately charged — and noticed that Amy had secreted her business card inside. Shameless! And … filthy. No way. I’m not going there, chum. I made a new year’s resolution. So I tore up her card into two pieces and put them in my coat pocket, the pocket where I put things that I definitely plan on throwing away later.