As the parents of two little girls, one four-years-old and one three-months-old, my husband and I don’t get to spend a lot of time together. So, we have these little at-home dates to try and catch up with one another and have a drinkie or eight or whatever and hopefully make Sexy Time. (That is, if we don’t both pass right the fuck out from drink and exhaustion as soon as we hit our very, very luxurious bed.)
And a couple of weeks ago, we actually managed to have a date, drinkies, and Sexy Time and because there were wwwwaaaayyyy too many of the drinkies, one drunken thing led to another which led to an Accident in the Bedroom when my husband forgot to employ the Pull and Pray. As someone who had just given birth 11 weeks prior, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call sane at that moment, and I wound up rocking back and fourth in the fetal position shouting “what did you just do?” over and over again as he apologized profusely. The next day, I sent him to the store to buy the Plan B pill because seriously?
The side effects from the pill weren’t too horrible, and I was only a fire monster for a couple of days, but holy hell did it turn me into a bitch in heat—a paranoid, and now gun shy, bitch in heat. I was about rubbing up against my counter tops at home and writhing around in my chair at work and before anyone suggests I should have just rubbed one out I will remind you that I have two children to look after.
But clearly, I had to do something before I wound up losing all control and humping a co-worker’s leg. I work at a library. Librarians generally don’t enjoy having their legs humped.
Anyway, I packed my kids into the car and headed to Target to explore my over the counter birth control options because the Plan B thing, although not terrible, is not an experience I would like to repeat. And what I was really looking for was the Today Sponge because it’s just so irresistibly Seinfeldian, but sadly, Target only has condoms, pregnancy tests and ovulation kits in their “family planning” department. Remind me to write a very strongly worded letter to the Target people because what the fuck?
So, I found myself contemplating condoms for the first time in 14 years and holy crap! I’m not going to lie to you because “only lie a little bit and not a lot” is my motto and I was overwhelmed by all the choices and more than a little bit confused and I wondered if I needed to call my husband because do they come in sizes? I don’t know.
And what about the ribbed ones? Are they really ribbed for my pleasure or is that just a cliché? I have no idea.
What about the ones that vibrate? Wait. Shut. The. Door. Condoms VIBRATE now? Do I want one that vibrates? And what is this Pleasure Pack business with all the different kinds in it? Is that like a condom buffet? Do I really want to try everything on the menu? MAGNUMS sound impressive but also intimidating as if my husband’s piece, once becondomed with a MAGNUM, will magically become a high powered firearm, and thins seem like they’d break as soon as the thrusting became, shall we say enthusiastic?
I was clearly in way over my head, but the part that makes all of this really fucking hilarious, is that while I’m trying to make a decision, my four-year- old is shouting “I hate you! I hate what you’re saying to me! I’m going to throw you in the trash can!” and she’s drawing the attention of everyone around us because we did not stop at the shoe department first. Seriously. Target employees were abandoning their projects to ask me if I needed help and I was just like “GOD NO! STOP STARING AT ME!”
Thank God the baby was sleeping because had she been awake and fussy, I would have probably asked the pharmacist for a rusty spoon so that I could just gouge out my ovaries right there in front of the ovulation kits. I eventually wound up just grabbing the silver box because it was pretty and right in front of my face and I headed for the check out because my little Diva was ramping up her performance and we were headed for a screaming hissy fit complete with tantrum on the floor in 3, 2, 1…
Checkout. There were three cashiers available: An old lady with Judgy Judgington eyes, a teenage boy, and a tired looking woman roughly my own age.
There was no line at Judgy’s register.
The boy seemed to be whacking off or adjusting his sack or somefuckingthing while his customer selected a pack of gum.
The tired lady had a shopper with eleventy million items. I decided to go with her. And I waited forfreakingever; cursing myself the whole time for not planning this purchase the day before when I bought $150 worth of bullshit, and the box of condoms could have just blended in with all the other stuff but no. All I had now was a lonely box which I tossed onto the conveyer belt and it just sat there between me and the cashier who was clearly mortified by my purchase. She refused to make eye contact with me, and I wondered if it would have been easier for everyone if I had just smuggled the box out of the store under the folds of the baby stroller canopy and risked getting hauled away in shame by the security clowns.
Do you think Family Services would have taken my children from me?
I’d say that maybe next time I’ll try just stealing the condoms to see what happens but there won’t be a next time because after all the crap I went through that day, my husband refuses to use them.
Anybody need a box of Trojan thins?