I thought I should bring condoms, since I couldn't guarantee he would have them. I went to the CVS when I was sure to have two or three other things to buy, and late enough in the afternoon that the Curious Nona of the self-checkout wasn't working.
After a bit of confusion in the family planning aisle, (what do they mean, "pleasant scent?") I settled on a small packet of three condoms, tucked it behind my other purchases, and headed to the self-checkout.
Now, I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm a grown-ass woman in my 40s. I have sex. (Or, rather, I want to.) And I am being responsible about it. This should be the opposite of embarrassing. This should give me the same feeling as when I bring my own bags to the grocery. But, since this country got the Puritans and the Tea Party, I am trying to be discreet about the whole thing. So, I slip up to a self-checkout station, out of notice of the (male) self-checkout minder. I quickly scan the condoms and drop them into a bag. Scot free!
Until the assistance light starts flashing, telling me the coupon box is full. Coupon box? I didn't use a coupon. I look around, stuff some loose papers down into the coupon box. The light still flashes. I have to ask the minder. And, of course, as soon as he steps over, the light stops flashing, and the self-checkout is sweetly ready to serve me. I say a polite thank you and start to scan my other items.
"Did it scan what's in the bag?" the minder says.
"Huh?"
Before I can think, the minder reaches into my bag and pulls out the condoms. Which didn't, in fact, scan. Now I'm a potential thief. I grab them out of his hand. Snatch them, more like. (Hee hee. "Snatch.") "I'll do it," I say, in exactly the same tone and volume my 3-year-old nephew used when talking about his shoes.
Mortified, but trying my best to look like some confident, sex-positive uber-MILF, I complete my purchase and scuttle out the door.
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