June 16, 2007
No Glove, No Love
One of the practical problems with having sex, especially regular sex, is that you have to buy condoms. As a retail experience, it's on a par with buying porn or visiting Ikea. Girls; when your man starts whinging about loss of sensation or latex allergies, don't buy it. He's just terrified at the thought of having to present one of those tidy checkout girls with a box of Durex knowing fine well that whether she likes it or not she is going to have a mental image of him trying to fiddle a sloppy cock sock over his manhood. And they are always tidy checkout girls. Either that or, worse, old like your granny. For this reason, I have always taken the wimps way out and hung about in pub toilets until noone's about then hastily thrown a couple of coins in the machine, twisted the knob, so to speak, grabbed the goods and made a hasty exit.
Sex just now, however, is regular and if I use the rapid-withdrawal-from-the-pub method of contraception then I'm gonna spend more time in grubby toilets than in bed with my lovely lady. Today, therefore, I decided to visit the pharmacist. Anyway, this is the 21st century so I shouldn't feel embarrassed about taking responsibility for my end of the sexual bargain. After all, as the ancient Chinese used to say, 'before you spank her cover your wanker'.So I head to Boots.
I'm about to enter, so to speak, when I realise I've got no cash. I do have the Switch card but if I use Switch then I'm going to have to hang around the checkout for at least half a minute longer than is absoloutely necessary so I turn about and head to Sainsburys to use the ATM.
Now I've got cash I can go back to Boots but the place is crawling with attractive women. It always is. There is absoloutely no way I can stroll up to the Johnny section, grab a multi pack of ultra sensitive then stand in line holding on to nothing but half a dozen willy warmers and my rapidly disappearing dignity. There's nothing for it. I have to buy tons of shit then sneak the condoms into the pile so noone will notice - except, inevitably, the tidy checkout chick.
I go for all the two-for-one deals I can lay my hands on to make my pile of shopping bigger and the condoms more inconspicuous then casually stroll through the family planning section.
I wish there was was only one kind of condom. There isn't. There's hundreds. Who'd have thought there was so many different ways to dress up a little rubber willy warmer. We may have a genuine latex allergy issue so I opt for a six pack of hypo allergenic Durex. Then, and this is where it started to go wrong, I optimistically figure: 'What the hey. I'm gonna be a busy boy. Lets get two packs.'
I make for the checkout.
The queue's long but the johnnies are well concealed. So far so good.
It's my turn. My pile of personal hygiene products tumbles on to the counter. The checkout girl is swift and professional. The it dawns on me. I've bought so much shit that the cash I've just withdrawn now proves to be insufficient. Beads of sweat form on my temples. I feel like a doomed gazelle trapped between a rocky outcrop and a hungry lioness. Don't panic. The checkout girl smiles. Don't run Monk. You can do this. She starts scanning the products. They're almost through. We're nearly clear. Only one more to go. It's the second pack of hypoallergenics. Beep...beep again. Oh shit. What's going on?..please God don't let me be the millionth customer...I'll rediscover my Catholic roots...I'll go to church and never buy another condom in my life...I swear...Just don't draw any more attention to me please...
The smiling checkout girl picks up the condoms and holds them aloft for all the world to see.
'You know these are on our three for two deal?'
Curse the three for two deal. Everything's backfiring and the sweat's flowing freely. She may not want to but in her head she can see me shagging and we both fucking know it. Worst of all, so can all the grannies in the queue
'Aye. You can get another packet for free.'
'Well', says I, 'That seems like rather a good deal. Perhaps[s I'll grab another pack on the way out.'
'Naw. Ye have to go and get them right now so I can scan them or else the alarm'll go off when you leave.'
My head says: 'Well perhaps I'd prefer to be tackled by your Nigerian security guard rather than take a walk of shame all the way across the store while you and all the old ladies fantasise about me going at it like a rabid Tunisian stray dog. Fuck you. Just give me the dozen now and we'll talk about the other six later.' Instead I say 'OK,' and take the walk of shame all the way across the store while the girl and the old ladies fantasise about me going at it like a rabid Tunisian stray dog.
The only thing that could make this worse is if my card is declined. It isn't. I run. Traumatic stuff all in all but, as the ancient Chinese used to say: 'Don't be silly, wrap up your willy.' On the plus side, I now have a dozen and a half johnnies. Still, next weekend I'm gonna stick to Ikea and cornershops.
Posted by Mutter Monkey at 6:31 pm