T'was a Daft and Stupid Night When a Twat Rang Out.

It was a night. A night like any other, or so you would think.

But then she walked in.

She wasted no time at all in locating the shelves full of toys. There was no hesitation before she started examining the racks with avid interest.

Without warning, the sound of flexing plastic wafted to the counter. "Ms Wanna-toy" was industriously prizing apart the halves of the clam-shell packaging despite the tape to slip a finger in towards the toy. In moments, she seems to give up. The reproof pauses on the tongue though the surveillance never diminishes, perhaps she will not repeat the behavior.

Her attention moves to boxes. Rapidly she gathers several products, dipping her finger along the back of the flap. She’s instructed to discontinue further digital penetrations. Alas, she appears oblivious to staff communications. Approach is made.

Fears are realized as the sound of slowly tearing paper is detected. Diplomacy has now been stripped of a couple options. She is confronted by the declaration we expect her to pay for the now damaged product. Predictably, she attempts to negotiate, to explain she was merely seeking to determine whether the items were soft.

It is pointed out to her that the damage to the packaging still persists. Further, that signs explicitly discouraging the behavior we were calling her on were all about her.

She attempts to rally by replying she was just trying to learn more about the toys. Immediately, she seeks to counter-sally with claims that the store is unreasonable. Allegations are leveled that other stores do not have such policies and that they do not care if sexual novelties are extracted from their packages to be handled regardless of purchase.

Poppycock! Balderdash!

Consequently, she departed the store with her brand-new pocket pussy and lighter in the pocket-book.

Truly, the common man exists within an idyll of intellectual and conceptual perfection.