The following may or may not have happened to a librarian named Josh.
When she approached the desk, he had no idea what she would ask.
“Yeah, so,” she began, “I know this is Utah and so this is probably a stupid question since there can’t be any books about sex in Utah, even at a place like Barnes and Noble, but I guess I thought I’d ask, even though I know that this is Utah, so–”
“People do it in Utah,” he said. “Have sex, I mean.”
The last thing he expected her to do was roll her eyes in disbelief, but there it was. Roll roll roll.
“I guess, maybe,” she said. “But not like in California.”
“Oh? How do they do it out there? Is it…quite different?” He was intrigued. Perhaps Cosmo magazine was not lying each month when its covers trumpeted the discovery of 99 new sexual positions. They all came from California.
“Oh, you don’t want to know,” she said. “I don’t even want to say it. Not in Utah.”
She had no idea what a deviant he was, but he decided it would be imprudent to enlighten her with an impromptu display of prurience-gone-mad. Mad!
“So would you like to see the sex slash intimacy books that we have?”
“Like you have any.” She snorted.
He snorted to. She repeated her snort, as did he; she had no choice to admit that he was snorting with greater disdain than she.
He took her to the shelves, which bowed under the weight of various Kama Sutra books and tomes that all boiled down to what goes where.
She was confounded. “I thought this was Utah!”
That night when he got home his wife had laid a trap for for him. A trail of Cheese Pringles led to the bedroom, where he knew a lusty tigress was waiting in ambush. She apparently had no idea that she was in Utah, so he let myself back out of the house, sat in the truck listening to an audiobook of A Prayer for Owen Meany, and tried to figure out how to tell her that they had to move.
If you have the courage to fight back the system and do it in Utah, please subscribe to the RSS feed.