Ah, how could I have forgotten to mention this one?
Many years ago I rented a room from a couple who had a large house and no kids. The woman ran a flower business from her kitchen, so to help with my rent I sometimes helped her with deliveries and such.

One afternoon I accompanied her on a run. First stop was to get some supplies for a flower basket she was making for a bachelorette party, so we went to Taboo Lingerie where she selected an assortment of lubricants and toys, smiling lasciviously at me as she did so. Since my landlady was of rather heroic proportions (think of Roseanne plus all the weight Oprah lost and throw in at least one Backstreet Boy) and quite a few years my senior, I gipped a little- but as I knew what was coming, I continued along with her.

We drove out to the fairgrounds, past the animal displays (where I once again thought of my old lover at the racetrack with a certain shuddering arousal), and to the back of the stage where there had been a concert the night before. My palms were damp with anticipation.

I entered the trailer where, just the night before, had stood the one I worshiped from afar.

As I carried the flower arrangements and vases and other decorations to the van my nose kept detecting various scents. At last I entered the trailer alone and found the traces I was looking for- half a bottle of wine, a guitar pick, a crumpled napkin... and then I found the one thing I knew I must have.

Today it sits in a place of honor, a small monument to my own personal diety: the very razor used by Sting, with his stubble still in the blades.

Never shall we be parted...

(contains less than 10% fact)
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 8 May 2008, 22:17, Reply)