Thursday, July 11, 2013
Walking through Singapore a few weeks ago I saw this in a museum. Seems odd there'd just be some random exhibit on trade routes around Singapore and they'd focus on something so specific as ginger, yet there it was. Of course, it caught my eye, not just because it seemed out of place amongst the other descriptions of cargo typically shipped around the area, but because it's...well...ginger.
So as I wandered the museum my mind got to gingering (no, not figging—that's something you do with a fig), carving ginger into anal plugs, inserting ginger... Which led me to think about the scene in which I inserted said ginger plug and proceeded to beat a bottom with a metal paddle, sending shards, scraps and shrapnel of fresh ginger all around the hotel room.
(TECHNICAL NOTE TO TOPS/DOMS/DOMMES: If you decide it would be fun and torturous to mash said ginger into the fine bottom of your bottom/sub, I highly recommend doing it in some place other than your own private home. Do it in a hotel, a dungeon, the residence of your bottom—anywhere but your own home. Those little splinters of ginger fly everywhere and then your abode ends up smelling like a strange cross between a poorly ventilated sushi bar and a fancy day spa.)
So when I got back into town, I went to the grocery store and picked up some fresh ginger. I love when I shop for ginger because I imagine most people just pick the thing up, determining how much they'll need for their recipe, and off they go. Me? I'm interested in the shape. Which is the most plug-worthy? Which will be the right diameter, length and size to be carved?
Needless to say, Lizzie is going to get a squirm-inducing gingering very, very soon.