Over my morning coffee, I was reading this press release from the market research firm StrategyOne about the Trojan® Charged™ Sex Life Survey. In surprise and amazement, I spit coffee all over my monitor when I came to the survey’s shocking conclusion: Americans need to buy a whole mess of Trojan® products. Here’s a link to a neat little infographic on the survey results. Warning: it may make you run out and buy a bunch of condoms and lubricants and all sorts of dirty stuff that is either going to make your partner very happy or very disgusted.
Perusing the questions and responses included in the press release got me thinking that I’ve never been polled on anything. You would think with all the market research being conducted in this country someone somewhere would want to know my opinion about toilet paper, or ball point pens, or, um, let’s say, sex. You would think maybe even if I didn’t fit the pollsters target demographic that they might dial my phone number just by accident sometime, given the sheer volume of polls and surveys being conducted, especially in a Presidential election year. But no. My burning thoughts on any given topic are confined to this blog, instead of cast upon the water, the way Jesus intended.
If they ever did manage to contact me, if the stars and the planets ever converged into that precise, mystical alignment that would bring my telephone number to the top of the call list, I imagine it would go something like this:
Long silence while the caller, startled that a real live human being answered the phone, scrambles to locate his script.
Me: Hello? Hello? Listen, if this is that heavy breather calling again, last time you called I was really bored and lonely and had just opened that bottle of wine, and everything got way out of control. Anyway, the thing is, you need to stop calling here–
Voice on telephone (not listening, launches directly into his script): Hello. My name is Phil. Would you be willing to participate in a survey regarding your sexual habits?
Me: Oh man, this is the heavy breather calling again, isn’t it?
Phil (baffled): No, ma’am. I assure you I’m conducting a survey. It is sexual in nature and the language may be considered graphic. Would you be willing to participate?
Me: Sure, but you’re going to have to buy me dinner first.
Phil: (more baffled) I’m sorry, I don’t understand—
Me: Forget it. Go ahead, Phil, fire away.
Phil: Thank you for your participation. On average, how often do you have sex?
Me: That’s a funny thing, Phil. What do you mean by “sex”?
Phil: Sexual intercourse.
Me: Is a hand job sex?
Phil: (stuttering): I-I don’t know.
Me: Yeah, the thing is, I don’t know either. See, I write this blog, and the other day, I was writing about this thing called karezza—do you know what that is, Phil?
Phil: No, I don’t.
Me: Well, I don’t know what it is either, but I don’t think it’s sex. But there are these people, they say it is sex, so if you called one of them up and asked them how often they had sex, they would say all the time!
Phil: (long pause) I’m not sure what I’m supposed to mark down as your answer …
Me: I’m not sure, either, Phil.
Phil: I think I should hang up now.