Tangents & The Times

I’m a pretty secure person but if there is one thing
that is really embarrassing for me,
it is buying condoms.
I’m pretty sure it is my equivalent to a dude buying tampons.

The worst is when they have to unlock the cabinet for you.
And there isn’t a stoned stock boy shelving generic fruit loops anywhere
and you have to go to like, the information desk.
Apprehensively, you approach the cow who’s chewing her gum like cud,
looking at you like you’re a bitch she saw on The Hills.
“Excuse me, I was wondering if I could get someone
to open up one of the glass cases for me?”
“Which one ?”
“Um… the one in aisle… six.”
She grabs the intercom.
“SUZANNE, A GIRL NEEDS CONDOMS.”

Seriously, you couldn’t keep it tactful ?!
There isn’t a code word or something ?!

Without hesitation you scurry off and loiter discreetly around the shadow box of sexual protection as to not alarm any of the stroller slingers in the shampoo isle with their curious eight year olds until you see Suzanne, a portly middle aged cat owner. She doesn’t tell you this but you know this, as she is the night manager of Jons.

Then she starts in on some small talk,
lamenting about when she was “your size”
and how she was a “real man eating bone hopper”
and you better “savor your glory days”.
Which is just awkward… I mean, what the hell do you say to that ?
I’m sorry Burger King isn’t the foundation of my food pyramid ?

So, you get your condoms and then,
you have to deal with actually purchasing them.

There is something about this that instantly makes me feel like a slut. It’s probably because it’s always a dude behind the counter that is either like seventy years old and looks like he wants to card me because I look sixteen, sans makeup in a Little House On The Prairie sundress or it’s some seventeen year old that jokes I forgot the KY Warming Lube, which is only embarrassing because then I realize I did in fact forget it and have to give up my place in line to that woman behind me who plays tennis with my mom on Wednesdays that inevitably recognizes me despite my efforts to stare directly at the Travertine and wants to play catch up about why I quit the swim team nine years ago as I unsuccessfully try to mask the fact the only things i have in my hands are Sour Patch Kids, whiskey and Her Pleasure Trojans.

Luckily for me, I don’t really ever have to do this.
1. Because finding worthy dudes in this town
is like finding a true-to-size pair of Cheap Mondays.
&
2. Because I stocked up at the AVN convention.

I think the only way to accurately depict the way
number two makes me feel is by combining
Kramer’s enthusiasm
with Elaine’s disgust,
Jerry’s skepticism
and George’s hope.

Yeah, I can’t decide if having a collection of condoms from a smut summit
makes me look prepared or like a prostitute.
It could really go either way.
I guess it depends on whether he’s too ugly not to charge.