February 17, 2005 - Thursday | 8:27 AM, CST The other day I was asked a favor which every man dreads doing. I was asked to purchase a feminine hygiene product... But not just any feminine hygiene product, it had to be a certain brand, a certain style, even a certain number in the box. Two boxes, in fact, was Matthew requested to buy that day. But I said what the hell, and tried my luck anyway at the adventure. Not that it really bothers me, but there are certain aspects of the situation which make me uncomfortable. It went off easily enough, until I got to the female section of the store. "Piece of cake," I thought, and looked around to find the forbidden materials. I was amazed at the variety of styles, brands, and levels of absorbancy. However there was one small problem... I couldn't find the particular style I had come to purchase. I thought about asking for help, but didn't really know what to say. Was a "tampon" a brand name, or a style? How do I word this? "Hey lady, can you tell me where I'd find the ones that you've gotta shove up inside?" "Good heavens!" would most assuredly come the indignant reply (followed by a sharp, stinging slap). So I searched on in silence. Finally after about five minutes I came to find them. Not wanting to wait long at the checkout, I picked the express lane and quickly dodged other shoppers to get first place in the line... all the while imagining some sort of embarassing conversation with the elderly cashier.
Cashier: Ringing up the merchandise Wha...? Wait a minute... what do we have here?! But thankfully nothing like that came to pass, and I was allowed to make my purchase without any hassle or raised eyebrows. Looking back, it wasn't such a bad experience after all, though definately not on my list of high priority items to buy. In other news I saw Danielle in the store and she showed me her shiney new engagement ring. There's a lot of glitter in that ring, let me tell you. Bling bling. Good for her too. These days its becomming more and more common that when a girl approaches me smiling, she usually holds up her left hand to display a glittery rock. Kind of wierd, seeing the people you played with on the swings and monkey bars wearing wedding dresses and getting down on one knee. Just a part of growing up, I suppose... but for now at least, I think I miss the playground. |
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