At first my Papi was understandably reluctant. I mean, we're both adventurous spirits and we enjoy trying out new things, but we'd only ever gotten our Quickies over at the Dollar Store.
What would it be like getting a Quickie in the middle of the grocery store's cleaning aisle?
Just the idea of such bourgeois indulgence made me flush with a temporary sense of shame.
Still unsure, Papi leaned towards me and with the soft lilt of his Mucho Mexi accent he hesitantly asked, "Are you sure that you actually need a Quickie right here, right now? Or do you just want a Quickie? There's a big difference between needing and wanting a Quickie, you know."
To which I burst out with a much more enthusiastic response than I had intended as I exclaimed, "YES! Yes! Yes! I definitely need a Quickie!"
Papi finally relented and agreed to my persistent demands for a grocery store Quickie.
As I tightened my grasp on the smoothly rounded hardness in my hands, I knew that this was so right and so very satisfying beyond even my wildest fantasies.
The Quickie experience left me breathless.
It really got the job done.
My dishes have never been cleaner.