Every once in a while, I will watch TLC.  I know, I’m an educated woman with aspirations of a writing career and limited time, and yet, late on a Friday night, after one too many scotches, I’ll meander through Time Warner Cable and catch a glimpse of something tawdry.  Like “My Strange Addictions”.   Sure, there are the cat people and the woman who drinks five bottles of nail polish a day, but the one that interested me was the guy who was in love with his car; a cherry red, 1998 Monte Carlo.

Forgetting that it’s insane to fall in love with an inanimate object, I couldn’t believe this guy had such low standards.  A Monte Carlo?  Come on, at least make it a Lexus.  The show reminded me of a documentary I saw a few years ago called “I Married The Eiffel Tower.”  The main subject of the film was Erika Eiffel (nee Erika LeBrie) who fell in love with the Eiffel Tower.  She “married” the tower in an intimate ceremony; with a white wedding dress and a gawking security guard as the best man.   Like most newlyweds, Mrs. Eiffel decided to consummate the relationship on their wedding day and straddled a beam immediately after saying her “I Do’s”.

She’s not alone in her adoration for inanimate objects.  It’s a real fetish called Objectum Sexuality.  This goes way beyond falling in love with your vibrator.  It’s a bonafide relationship with said objects.   I have a good imagination and even though I talked to my stuffed dog until the age of 12, I never pretended he responded or would do much more than be a pillow or blotter for my tears

I’m not one to judge, but obviously there is something mentally wrong with these people.    I usually avoid meaningful (and therefore sticky) relationships with men, but I’m not about to think about fucking the stick shift in my Mini Cooper.  (Although I do sometimes fondle it in traffic.)   But when I think about it more, if they are getting satisfaction from these “relationships”, more power to them.  Just keep your pussy out of the public domain.  I might need to grab a handrail and there’s not enough hand sanitizer in the world to handle that kind of gross.

Moral of the story, it takes all kinds, but I prefer to have mine breathing.