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tales of something simple - December 2011

i believe

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

all types of chaos

dirty mommy hoe

I stood in the feminine hygiene products isle at the pharmacy.  I paused as I turned into the abundance of shelves stacked with boxes and sleeves of tampons, pads, panty liners and depends.  Why do they put birth control in the same isle as the crap you buy when you are least likely to be having sex?  I wandered slowly down towards the condoms, which are  ironically placed next to pregnancy tests and yeast infection creams.  Double turn on.  Another pause.  I suddenly feel overwhelmed by the vast sea of rubber before me.  And no matter how jazzy the branding message or colorful the label, I feel defeated already.

We do not use condoms.  However, starting oral contraception three weeks post-partum has adversely crept up on my once abundant milk supply for the nearly 9-week old I push in my cart through the pharmacy.  We are now condom users.

Will be anyway.  Once someone finally gives me a green light to get my sweet ass groove on.

I feel comfortable sharing this only because now that I have had a baby I am convinced that my grandmother has accepted the fact that I’ve done the nasty.  I gave birth to 7 lbs. 15 ounces of living proof two months ago, so I think I’m in the clear.

I scan the shelves.  All eight of them.  I am confused and amused by all of the options.

“Magnum.”

Last time I saw that word it was on a box of Dove ice cream bars.  Clearly I’ve been removed from this kind of scene for awhile.

“Twisted pleasure.”

Eh, not sure I’d like anything twisted about this endeavor so I’ll pass.

“Fire and Ice.”

Listen, there’s this thing called “the ring of fire” which occurs right around transition before delivery of a baby.  Ice is what they pack your vagina with after a baby passes through it.  I’ve had about all the fire and ice I can handle for one year, thank you.

“Her pleasure.”

Well if it is anyone else’s pleasure but mine than you’ve got the wrong intention dude.

“Large and Extra Large.”

A conundrum.  Where is the size chart on the back?  I feel like buying fitted dress shirts is easier and far less offensive to my partner if I buy the wrong size.  Is there a coupon for a free Chiquita so I can demo one out before I purchase?

“Ultra thin.”

Well if that’s the exception, not the standard, you should be out of business.

“Ultra ribbed.”

If I wanted a sweater I’d go to the GAP.

“3SUM”

Now this is baffling.  If this shit can keep me from getting knocked up, away from an STD and fold my laundry I am in.

“WYLD”

I don’t know what this does, however I feel like it would only be appropriate if I were sleeping with a long-haired cowboy named Bucky.  Otherwise I just don’t think the effect is the same.

“Flavors and Colors”

If I wanted flavor I’d buy a blow pop, I wouldn’t be giving one.

I begrudgingly select a box, imagining the look of horror and wilted cock I will get when my husband sees this.

I approach the counter with a pumpkin scented candle, pacifiers and condoms.

The cashier looks at me, looks at my baby, and looks at my items.  She probably thinks the Pumpkin Spice candle is to set the mood (it’s not, it’s for the kitchen I swear).

I look at my bright eyed infant in her car seat, totally passing baby judgement, embarrassed for her life that her mother is buying turtlenecks for her father in front of her.

“I know, I know I look like a dirty Mommy hoe” I say to the teenaged cashier who has probably had way more sex than me in past quarter.

“Hey gotta use some kind of protection right?” she says to me.

I’d love to meet her health education teacher, give him a high five and then run out of his classroom with his fishbowl of condoms so I don’t have to spend $14,99 on mine.

Here’s to some old fashioned high school fun and playing the game of “I hope there isn’t a hole in it.”

Though next year’s Christmas card would be cute with two babies in it.

Just kidding.

 


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