Too High to Measure

There we were, a lazy Sunday afternoon, enveloped in a hazy cocoon of cannabis-induced euphoria. The world outside our living room seemed distant, irrelevant almost, as my husband and I delved into realms of conversation usually left unexplored. Amidst the laughter and spiraling tangents of thought, we stumbled upon a subject spicy enough to cut through the fog—experimenting with something new in the bedroom. A particular fantasy, one that needed just a bit more... hardware to become reality.

So, with the confidence only a high can give, I volunteered for the mission. I grabbed my laptop, a beacon of modern convenience ready to deliver our desires right to our doorstep. The internet, a vast sea of possibilities, offered up pages of results for my query. Yet, in my elevated state, details such as dimensions seemed trivial, inconsequential even. Who cares about numbers when adventure calls? With a few clicks, our order was placed, our anticipation set to simmer for the next few days.

The arrival of the package was an event in itself. The size of the box alone should have been the first clue that something was amiss. It was comically large, dwarfing our other mail, a monolith among pebbles. My husband raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air, but I brushed off his concern with a chuckle. "They probably just pack it well," I said, naive to the revelation that awaited us.

Opening the box felt like unearthing a relic of an ancient civilization, one that perhaps worshipped size above all else. There it was, a dildo with a suction cup, not just any dildo—this was the Moby Dick of dildos, a leviathan in a sea of modest sex toys. Three feet of girthy, silicone ambition stared back at us, its presence both awe-inspiring and slightly terrifying.

The laughter that followed was uncontrollable, tears streaming down our faces as we tried to comprehend the situation. There, in our living room, lay a purchase so absurd, so far removed from our original intent, that it crossed the boundary from mistake to legend. We imagined the scenarios, the practical applications of such a beast, and each was more hilarious than the last.

But beyond the laughter, there was a lesson, a reminder of the importance of paying attention to the details, especially when under the influence. Our misadventure with the titan of toys became a story to share, a tale of how a high idea led to an even higher surprise. And while we never did find the courage (or the physical capacity) to incorporate our colossal friend into our bedroom antics, it found a place of honor in our home—a monument to whimsy, a beacon of hilarity in an often too-serious world.

As we moved past our monumental mistake, we found that our misstep had brought us closer, woven into the fabric of our relationship a thread of shared humor and a willingness to embrace the absurd. Our colossal companion, now affectionately dubbed "The Behemoth," stood as a testament to our adventure, a reminder that sometimes, the journey is far more entertaining than the destination.