This kind of thing's not my bag, baby

Ladies and gentlemen, may I direct your attention to Exhibit A.

Imagine my exasperation when this questionable item was whipped out in broad daylight and in front of lots of people - friends, tourists, security guards - by one Mandi, fellow paddler, full-time shoe-shopper and supposed part-time distributor of "medical equipment".
"Here," she said loudly, waving it around, "I brought this specially for you."
How, I thought, stowing it swiftly in my car, did she come by what could only be a Swedish-made Penis Enlarger? And how presumptious. Nonetheless I took it home.

That night, after half an hour of toil, all I had to show for my efforts were two sore feet, a stiff back and no appreciable increase in volume. Mandi's promised 10cm increase had failed to materialise. My recommendation: leave the dubious Skandinavian products to the professionals, and use a bicycle pump to inflate your pilates ball.