Tag Archives: German beds

Can’t find a hussy? Try “TravelPussy”!

Having lived in Germany for a while, it’s rare that I’m still surprised by anything. The German bedding system, the massive signs for “Dildo King”, the early morning beer drinkers, the speed at which supermarket cashiers operate, the poo shelf, the reverse poo shelf…

All of these things I take in my stride. But I do still like to be surprised on occasion, and this is exactly what happened at a service station on the way back from Münster.

Manfredas: I got you a present.

Me: From the toilet? 

Manfredas: Well, yes, but I think you’ll like it…

He was right. It turns out that for the bargain price of around €5, you can make me the happiest girl on earth. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you – the “TravelPussy”.

Bah ha ha ha ha ha ha!
What to give the blogger who has everything

Once my initial mirth had subsided, I just had to take a look inside. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.

A sandwich bag crossed with a hot water bottle?
A sandwich bag crossed with a hot water bottle?

Me: What the hell?

Manfredas: What the hell?

Clearly, I would need to read the instructions which, apart from being enlightening, were also one of the funniest things I have ever read.

  1. Open up TravelPussy. (Sure, a closed TravelPussy is no use to anyone.)
  2. Pour a very small amount of TravelPussy-Gel into the “vagina” and spread it. (The quotation marks had me in tears before I even got to the word “spread”.)

Don't leave home without it.
Don’t leave home without it.

3. Turn TravelPussy upside down and fill gently with warm water or simply blow air into it. IMPORTANT! Make sure the water is not too hot, check with your finger! (I really am not making this up.)

4. Place some TravelPussy-Gel on your penis and you are ready for a wonderful experience. (I wonder.)

5. After use, empty TravelPussy and leave it to domestic waste – not in toilet! (Yes, please guys, have some respect for your Pussy – not in toilet.)

I guess this is one of those rare occasions where size really doesn't matter.
I guess this is one of those rare occasions where size really doesn’t matter.

The environmentally-aware among you will be pleased to hear that TravelPussy is made from eudermic and eco-friendly material. TravelPussy-Gel does not contain any paraffin which is good news for those who fancy a smoke while playing with their Pussy. But be careful, it also does not contain any contraceptive or spermicide so you run the risk of knocking up your sandwich bag-hot water bottle if you don’t use a condom. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Over the course of my Saturday night out, the topic of TravelPussy came up. (OK, I brought it up.) Proving that it (she?) still had the power to surprise, it emerged that my dear friend, Nigel, had actually bought a TravelPussy. “For the laugh”, you understand.

Me: How would you sum up the experience?

Nigel: Confusing. Disappointing.

Me: Sorry, I’ll stop laughing eventually.

If you want to see confusion and disappointment in picture form, I highly recommend clicking on this link:

His face…

At the risk of lowering the tone of this blog any further, I leave you with this profound thought for the evening.

20160202_131337

You are welcome.

 

 

 

We did the Münster mash… (Part One)

I’m determined to see as much of Germany as possible so when my good friend, Manfredas, invited me along on a trip to Münster, I jumped at the chance.

Road trip!
Road trip!

We set off at around 2pm on Friday afternoon. No, I tell a lie – we set off at EXACTLY 2pm on Friday afternoon. Once we hit the Autobahn, I did what any self-respecting woman would do – lifted up my top and yelled, “ROAD TRIP!!!” at the top of my voice. Don’t worry, I was wearing a t-shirt underneath it – I didn’t want to cause a pile-up.

This was to set the tone for what were probably the longest five hours of Manfredas’ life. If I wasn’t chuckling at “Ausfahrt” and “Gute Fahrt!” signs, I was targeting place names that started with “Bad”, shouting things like “BAD Nenndorf” in a strict voice while wagging my finger.

After a couple of hours, we pulled into a truck stop for food and drinks. For some reason, I chose the stickiest-looking Danish they had so the shop assistant, obviously suspecting my mental age, took no chances when handing it over.

Nice...
Nice…

Amazingly, Manfredas didn’t abandon me there and, a few hours later, we arrived safely at “Barbaras Bed and Breakfast” in Münster. The key had been left in a little safe for us, so we let ourselves in and went to our room. We were staying in “Cloud 4” which was a bit disappointing as I’d rather be on cloud nine, but ho hum…

I soon cheered up when I saw that the Münsteraner also favour the two-duvet approach to bedding.

I ate my sweet before taking the picture.
I ate my sweet before taking the picture – oops.

The room was lovely – light, clean and airy. A little too airy actually as ze Germans tend to go a bit nuts when it comes to lüften (airing), even in the depths of winter. One surprise feature of this property is the punching bag and boxing gloves on the second floor. Gropers of Münster beware…

I boxed for a little while, we freshened up a bit and got ready to hit the town. On our way out the door, Barbara showed up and immediately offered us a lift.

Barbara: So, where are you from?

Me: Ireland. 

Barbara: No way! I lived in Ireland for a few years! In Dublin.

Me: No way! I’m from Dublin! 

And so on and so forth. We were practically best friends by the time we got out of the car a few minutes later. I certainly couldn’t fault the Münsteraner on their friendliness and helpfulness so far. After taking a photo for the file I like to call “Random stuff that tickles me”,

Effing studio...
Effing Studio…

we found a lovely restaurant called Cult Eck and ordered. I had the chicken with tomato and mozzarella, fresh vegetables and fried potatoes. You’ll have to take my word for it that it was amazing – I ate it before I could take a photo.

After we’d finished, we walked down the street to a party being thrown by some of Manfredas’ friends. It was in a bar with the rather amusing name of “Nippes”. You paid €25 at the door and your drinks were free for the whole night. With an Irish woman and a bunch of Germans, this could have led to disaster, but it was a great night. Manfredas’ friends were really welcoming and more than happy to be tortured by my ScheißGerman for the evening.

The next morning, I bumped into Barbara on my way back from the loo so she made me a cup of tea, and we settled in for a natter about life, love and the universe. Shortly afterwards, Manfredas appeared.

Manfredas: Is there a flower shop around here? (We were going to visit his sister.)

Barbara: Yes. There is one a seven-minute walk from here. 

Manfredas: Not five, not ten, but seven…

Barbara: Yes, seven.

Me: Germans.

But, you know, if you can’t beat them, join them.

Me: OK, so if it takes you seven minutes to walk there and seven minutes to walk back, that’s fourteen. Let’s say that you’re in the shop for three minutes choosing and paying, so that’s a total of seventeen minutes. I’ll be out of the shower by then and able to let you back into the room. 

Manfredas and Barbara: (collective jaw drop)

With alles in Ordnung, we set off for Manfredas’ sister’s place.

DSC00009

The day was a bit gloomy but it was a pretty walk through leafy streets and along the canal. When we arrived, we were brought into the kitchen where more food than I could eat in a year was laid out. Three or four types of meat and cheese, around eight different types of bread, two baskets of fruit, butter, jam, Nutella, juice, water, tea and coffee. The woman had had her appendix out a few days earlier and she was still a thousand times better Hausfrau than I would ever be.

Me: Jesus. She really pulled out the stops for us…

Manfredas: No, this is just a typical Saturday morning for them. 

Me: Jesus.

Manfredas’ sister and brother-in-law were probably wondering why he’d chosen to bring a mute person to breakfast, but I was too busy eating to mind much.

Stay tuned for Part Two – coming soon! 

 

 

Sleeping with the Germans

Contrary to popular belief, Germany (unfortunately) isn’t all about the Nippel-twisting and Arsch-licking, so when I say sleeping, I actually mean, sleeping. Sorry to disappoint but it’s not my fault your mind went where it did on reading the headline. (Dirty bugger.)

As with most things, sleeping in Germany is a serious business. Don’t be surprised if, when you go back to your new lover’s place and are passionately shedding your smalls as you smooch your way towards the bedroom, you are faced with a bit of a surprise when you get there. You see, practicality trumps romance in a German bedroom. Sure, he’s got a double bed, but you won’t be snuggling up under a double duvet after the main event.

NEIN, this could lead to all sorts of chaotic behaviour. One of you might get more of the duvet than the other, or God forbid, take the opportunity to dice with the dreaded “Dutch oven”. Perhaps if it had been called a “Deutsch oven” things might have been different, but as it stands, you’ll be keeping your Wurst farts to yourself. On a German double bed, there are two single duvets, which, when you think about it, actually makes perfect sense.

Relationship saver
Relationship saver

Germans are also rather early risers so don’t be surprised if, even after the most strenuous exertions, your German is wide awake at ungodly o’clock and slipping his manly German feet into his Hausschuhe. The good news is that he’ll probably make you a nice cup of tea or force-feed you magnesium (to replace lost vitamins) after he’s had his morning Sitzpinkel.

My current Hausschuhe
My current Hausschuhe

All in all, I’m a fan of the Germans’ nocturnal ways; you never have to wake up shivering in the middle of the night, you needn’t worry if he develops a taste for Heinz beans, and you usually get a productive, early start to the day. If I had to gripe about one thing however – and I do – it’s German pillows. Yes, the country that brought us the car, the computer, the jet engine, the pill, X-ray technology, beer and, rather ingeniously, aspirin to ward off the effects of said beer, has failed abysmally at creating comfortable pillows.

I’ve slept in a lot of beds since I moved to Berlin (I’ve changed apartment a lot, OK? Don’t you judge me…) and I can safely say, I’ve yet to find a decent pillow. Pillows in Germany are not your standard rectangular haven of loveliness. No, not content with this, the Germans have created massive square monstrosities that have the approximate consistency of a marshmallow. It doesn’t matter how much you fluff them, pile them, or beat them, as soon as you lay your head on a German pillow, the stuffing retreats to all four far-flung corners and your head is left languishing pathetically on the mattress.

WHY?!
WHY?!

Still, I like to think that this isn’t an oversight on the Germans’ part, but rather, another clever (if tricky) invention. After all, where would the country be if everyone was still drooling into their non-neckbreaking pillows at 8am? Down the Scheißer, that’s where…