This morning when I was with a client of mine, I couldn't help but notice a strange bracelet he was wearing. It was black faux leather with tiny prints that looked to me like, well, brass knuckles. When I mentioned this, he said that's what they were, brass knuckles. He said he got it at "that shop" at the local mall. I asked him which shop, and he said he couldn't remember the name, but it sold a lot of strange things. I said, "Was it the naughty shop?" hoping I wouldn't have to explain (he's cerebral palsied and mildly retarded, about 50 years old) but he said, "Yes, the naughty shop!" It reminded me of something my best friend asked me to get her for Christmas a few years ago, and inspired me to write this..........ahem....... ~*~Silver Bullet~*~ I remember one year when I asked my best friend what she wanted for Christmas and she said, (I could almost hear her blushing) "I would like a BOB"-- which stands for "Battery Operated Boyfriend" if you, ahem, know what I mean.... Well. So I moseyed on down to the local "Naughty Shop" although if I'd had any sense I'd have ordered it online. For nearly half an hour I sat in my Oldsmobile in the chilly grip of December working up the nerve to go in. Now don't snicker; it was my first time, after all. There it loomed, a small cinderblock building painted pink and green-- more attractive than it sounds, actually. The sign read: BEHIND THE DOOR--NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART! I hoped no one I knew would recognize my car. I truly wondered if I would be the same woman when I came out again. Finally, telling myself I'd better go in before they closed, I drew a deep breath opened the car door glad of the darkness walked those few steps ice crunching under my reebocks tried to peek in the window then timidly entered. A breath of incense greeted me, patchouli or ylang-ylang or dragon's blood I knew not which but it was most pleasant though it did go oddly with the country song playing on the boombox. Manikins in strange small garments seemed to watch my every move; one of them in thigh-high black stiletto boots fishnet hose, spiky collar studded leather bra and attitudinous stance looked especially daunting. Objects of which I knew not the names stood erect on shelves or hung flaccidly on pegs colorful and mysterious and most definitely kinky. On closer examination my unease evaporated and the only thing that freaked me out then was the prices. Must I leave emptyhanded? Then a woman appeared, a hefty gal in tight bluejeans with a round rosy face the sort you would want for your aunt, or your big sister (if you were my age) a far cry indeed from the leatherclad butchdoll and asked if she could be of assistance, in her sweet downhome twangy accent. She showed me something which she described as a "silver bullet" saying, "Every woman should have one." Lo and behold, it was only fifteen dollars. I bought it. And left. Still alive, still breathing still the same woman as the one who went in just one silver bullet richer. I didn't try it out except on my hand but I thought it would do nicely even though I'd never think of the Lone Ranger the same way again. Haven't been back to the shop since then. It burned down but they've long since rebuilt it. We big girls need our toys too, after all, and when we've no nice strong man to warm our nights sometimes we just have to take matters into our own hands if you know what I mean. I'm sure God will understand. In fact, on the judgment day when I stand before Him and He asks me: "Rose, why did you go into that naughty shop?" I'll boldly say: "I did it for love!" And He'll say: "Exactly what I wished to hear. Proceed through the gate, My child. You will be an asset to My Kingdom, without a doubt." Index More poetry by Armariel can be read here: Armariel's Enchanted Realm The Antonio Banderas Garden of Dreams Delorita's Songbook