Embarrassment over a shopping errand evaporates when the clerk remains entirely indifferent.

Evidence

Although I had worked as a topless go-go girl in my early twenties, at this time of my life, my tassel-twirling days were behind me. At forty-four, I was mother to a teenage daughter and it had been a while since I had come in close proximity to sexual accoutrement and the sex act itself, for that matter. So there I stood, blushing like a virgin, before a 6’2” leather-clad queen, and asking if he could direct me to the aisle where I could find the following items: “A five-gallon bottle of baby oil, a package of large plastic tarps, a dozen tubes of flavored lube, a dozen pairs of edible panties, a couple of strands of Ben Wa balls, and a half a dozen assorted dildos with testicles attached in different sizes and colors.” As I read from Ginger’s shopping list, a flush of embarrassment changed my complexion from tan to sunburnt. I blurted out, “This stuff is not for me. It’s for my boss.” To which the queen in the bare-ass leather chaps replied, “Lady, I don’t give a fuck who they’re for,” and led me down the dildo aisle. — Dolores DeLuce, Blow Jobs, 226

Categorization

• CANDY: The clerk’s comeback ‘Lady, I don’t give a fuck who they’re for’ is a light, shareable one-liner stripped of much context need.