I remember the first condom I ever bought. I was 11 or 12 and it was a dry, non-lubricated condom. I remember this because I bought it at a store that sold Mardi Gras beads, magic tricks, and novelties. The condom came in a white box with a joke printed on it. I do not remember the joke. What I do remember is that I did not buy it for the joke rather I wanted to know what one of those things looked like.
That first condom purchase had no tension. Every condom purchase after that for the better part of a decade was guilt ridden. You’d approach the checkout feeling that because you were under 18 you would be denied your purchase. Or you would not take your eyes off the floor for fear of seeing those judging eyes of everyone in the store who had obviously stopped their shopping to stare at the sinful teen buying a condom. Didn’t they know it was going to just sit in that vinyl wallet to make the status circle until the wrapper wore thin and had to be replaced with another condom?
As a resident assistant at the University of TN Knoxville (Clement and Reese), I had condoms galore to distribute to the residents. Aids Response Knoxville had given me 200-300 colored condoms to distribute to the residents. Ha! They should have been named inner tubes rather than condoms considering they were thick enough to bag your lawn clippings. But they were pretty! As I gave someone the last condom, I lamented that I’d have to buy condoms again. Of course, you can get free condoms online from Trojan and Durex.
Five Children Later
Two years ago, Omega was born. Two years ago, I readied myself to never purchase a condom again. For the most part, guys don’t want anyone playing around their groin with one notable exception. Age and economics have placed us in a position of saying 5 children is enough. Don’t get me wrong. I love having a large family and would have really liked having more children (not that many). Just under two years ago, I lamented that merely $600 kept me from participating in National Vasectomy Awareness Week.
Buying Condoms With Children
The other day Cathy, Evan and I approach the checkout at the grocery store and it occurs to me that we are in no position to exercise some adult stress relief. Evan is a little wild so I take him with me as Cathy unloads the shopping cart at the register. I find where they keep the condoms and I stare into the multi-color array of pleasure choices. Ribbed for the illusion of increased stimulation. Extra-large for small egos. Coated in desensitizing lotion in case your antidepressant is not doing its job. "Anti-depressants; they make you popular!" Non-lubricated for nostalgia. Flavored because you’re fooling yourself. Twisted because we’re fooling you. Tingling because no sex is better than the kind she screams out, "it burns! it burns!" Ultra-ultra-ultra thin because you might just want another baby.
Oh. I got distracted. Where’s Evan? Oh! Screaming and bolting for the exit. I grab the least expensive 12 pack (a year’s supply) checking to make sure it doesn’t say nonoxynol-9 (which I am pretty sure doesn’t come on any condom anymore) and making sure it doesn’t say Michelin then bolt for Evan. He sees me coming, laughs, squeals, changes direction and shoots toward the lines of staring people at the checkouts. "Oh look honey! That man carrying the box of condoms is chasing the undisciplined hellion." I finally catch Evan who grabs the box of condoms and politely hands them to the cashier.
Internet Campaign to Neuter Doug
I think Evan is finally turning in his lease. I have a chance at a romance life again! I think perhaps it is time to walk the path some other brave men have journeyed. Time to buy a decent bottle of scotch and a bag of frozen peas. Dr. Snip here I come!