Mitte is fun
There is a store in the central part of Berlin (Mitte) around Hackische Markt. It is well situated among other high-end trashy-hot stores…in which you can make your own jewelry, buy a 1974 DDR sofa for EU 4000, enjoy Berlin’s only Cosmo in the Barbie Brothel or buy a molded leather shoe formed to look like a human ear.
The store is called Fluffy White Pink, a fine example of syntactically incongruous Anglo-German wordplay.
In other words, near-complete idiocy. I continue.
Fluffy White Pink is mainly a depot for Hello Kitty-based products…from erasers and changepurses to a EU 269 roller suitcase. It also features an assortment of objects comprised of patches of cloth and elasticized string which, I’m told, when masterfully assembled on a human female of roughly the same circumference as a firehouse pole, can legally qualify as clothing.
I’m a big fan of their collection of Jesuses and Marys painted on black velvet. That’s the only reason I’d ever go. I swear.
Anyway, on one cold afternoon a while ago, I found myself in FWP, for some reason mired in serious consideration over buying a crocheted cigarette-box cozy. A Mitte mom was also shopping at the Fluffy at that time, somehow ignoring her ugly little boy as he toppled displays and leveled shrieks that would send Yoko Ono straight to culinary school.
I also tried to ignore junior, so as to adequately compare the advantages of both the recycled tetra-pak and crocheted cigarette-box cosy. Just as this conflict approached gainful resolution, I felt something on the back of my left leg, just south of buttcheek.
The sensation was reminiscent of a jolt from a wall socket and a stint in the dentist’s chair combined, mixed in with something more familiar and oddly reassuring–something I couldn’t place.
Turning around, I was concerned, nervous–had it been a seizure?
I looked down. The little shit-child was grinning up at me. In his smudged, chubby hands, he held what looked like a Hello Kitty Pez dispenser…or a Hello Kitty jumbo pen, or something. It was only then that I noticed the buzzing.
It was a Hello Kitty vibrator. A five-year-old boy wearing an anti-GM (genetic modification) t-shirt had just prodded me with a Hello Kitty vibrator, the origins or cleanliness of which I could not begin to ascertain.
I left immediately.
