Yes, you heard me, I said right type. You go over to grab one of two badly bruised 'love mittens' that happen to be in your possession, and wouldn't you know it, they're un-lubricated! To put this into a better perspective, and to also fall back onto the earlier canned soup analogy, you go to grab a can of Condensed Chicken and Mushroom for a wonderful casserole you're about to prepare, and all you have are three cans of Chicken and Stars.
This is when I am forced to go on a rare quest: A quest for condoms.
This quest is not one that I particularly like to embark upon. Not because I am an immature man that still giggles himself into a frenzy at the mere thought of putting a 'latex sheath' over his manhood, though I am drooling with silliness as I write this very fact. It is the hazards that one encounters while purchasing 'rubber love gloves' that makes the entire experience cringe worthy. It is a stressful, time consuming and humbling experience.
How could buying 'passion socks' possibly be all that...horrendous? Like I mentioned previously, buying 'child stoppers' has never been a part of my regular daily schedule because they have always miraculously been there. I don't have any experience with location of said 'love bags', their cost, or their variety. So for me to just run in to my nearest retail location, grab a box of fun, and run out is definitely out of the question.
Whenever I do muster up enough courage to wander out in public to be seen purchasing a box of 'rubber love sleaves', I always end up doing just that: wandering. I have no idea where to go, I always end up backtracking into the tampon section, and somehow I always run into at least two to three old women in battery powered wheel chairs that impede my useless progress.
Once I finally do meet my destination it's almost impossible to describe the overwhelming feeling of ineptitude that fills my body. Standing in front of a seven foot tall wall full of condoms, filled with dozens of variations in sizes, colors, and flavors, is incredibly confusing, especially when you only need to pick just one. It's even more intimidating when the first thing you see at eye level is a giant row of Magnums that you know you will never use in your entire life.
Going back once again to the soup analogy, it's hard to try and pick up just a can of Chicken Noodle when all you can see are Chicken and Basil, Chunky Chicken, Chicken Base and then all the variations of Tomato soup right next to it. And none of it is in order.
After embarrassing myself by wandering around the health section of any nameless retail store, and shoving my way past numerous handicapped elderly women, my fears and stress have only just begun. Once I go to actually purchase the 'groin protectors', I somehow always manage to run into one of two scenarios: I either A.) have a cashier that is of obvious strong christian base and morale's, and sneers at me the entire time he/she helps me purchase my box of 'goo catchers', never wasting a moment to stare down at me letting me know that I am committing a moral sin. Or B.) I get stuck in a long line of customers constructed primarily of well to do families!
So there I stand with nothing in my hand but a big glowing blue box of 'cock bags', while in front and behind me are loving families consisting of parents and children, who are all running around and playing, and having a wonderful time shopping, while I stand there trying to hide my box of goodies. And eventually it happens, some kid comes up and asks me what I'm holding in my hand. It's all I can do to not say "something your parents should have bought". Instead I just stand there red faced and let the tears of shame run down my cheeks.
In fear of running into either of those embarrassing situations, I would just as much rather run home and wrap my sex glaive in a sandwich bag, dunk it in vegetable oil and shout out at the lucky woman that I'm about to bed and proclaim "Gaze upon my sexual ingenuity and pray that it does not fail!" Problem solved and a good time had by all.
So it's a Fact: Being the responsible adult that I am I do not run home and wrap my baggage in a baggie, and simply brave the horrors that one must encounter to ensure proper protection. For it is the price one must pay.
Bonus Fact: Happy Belated Father's Day
