What Am I, Like, Fourteen?!

Last week, after a majorly irritating screw up with my normal prescription birth control, and since I'm not quite ready to be a parent (even though I am getting a bit long in the tooth) I had to purchase "alternate forms of contraception." So I went to Big Pharmacy Chain Store to get said alternate form. Since I have been married for, like, ever, and since before then I wasn't exactly a swinging kinda gal, I am not an expert on brands and types of condoms. So while I was trying to shop around, this hairy big guy was standing RIGHT in FREAKIN' FRONT of the rack-o-rubbers, which they have to keep out in front of the pharmacist counter cause people steal them. (I guess it's better to risk a shoplifting conviction than the embarrassment of purchasing said products for some folks. Although imagine the "rap sheet" on that one-- a felony condom theft conviction.) Since they have to keep them out in the open, there were like, a million people standing around waiting to talk to the gal in the white coat. And you know, it's important to think about this purchase. I mean, did I want "extra sensitive with spermicide" or "ribbed for her pleasure?" I finally decided, after hairy guy grokked why I was swerving around him trying to look nonchalant, and moved outa my way.

So here's the point. I am a fair skinned, with freckles, red head. Back when I was a kid, I used to blush terribly. As I got older and more jaded, few things really got to me. But lately, I've been troubled with it again. So here I was, a thirtysomething married chick, and my cheeks (not those cheeks, really, get your mind out of the gutter) were flaming red, prickly hot, and I was hysterically suppressing that giggle you get when Mr. Brown is yelling at you in French class cause you weren't paying attention and you know if you laugh it'll just make it worse but that makes you want to laugh all the more. And even more embarrassed that I was embarrassed. I mean, I am, after all, a modern woman. Why am I blushing here?!

And it gets better. When I finally randomly grabbed my box, (sort of like I imagine guys must when sent out for tampons-- blindly grabbing the first thing in sight) and went to the front counter to pay, the guy pointed out this "buy one get one free" coupon for two brands NOT of the brand I was currently holding. So I either had to admit that I was too embarrassed to go get the bargain rubbers (which I'll probably never use-- unless I do some sort of crazy art project) or face said crowd of pharmacy extras again. So I had to face the crowd of people who I'm quite sure were staring at me with a "you're going straight to Hell missy" look* and pick out TWO boxes-- carefully picking the correct brand this time.

So then, jauntily swinging my bag and still blushing furiously, I left the Chain Pharmacy with my illicit goods. I wish they'd have had some illegal fireworks to buy, too.

*after all, we were in very Catholic Louisiana, where The Passion was on THREE screens at the theater and Starsky & Hutch on TWO. (We went, heathens that we are, to see the cop flick). Yup. STRAIGHT to Hell. :)