In which I overuse ALL CAPS*

On Wednesday I decided that we better start doing as much grocery shopping as possible at the WalMart, at least until the farmer's market opens for the summer. I have to compliment the Dunkirk location, though, because the grocery section was perhaps the most well-organized I've ever seen in a WalMart. Usually they force you to wander through the shoe department to get from the juices to the chicken nuggets. But for once I did not HAVE to leave the food area to collect most of my groceries. It took me a long time to do the shopping because I was punching myself in the face the entire time I was in the store. I hope next time my pride allows me to give myself a few select groin kicks and then shop in peace.

While I was there, I wracked my brain trying to remember if we were short on any toiletries. I decided that it might be time for Robb and I to each have a new toothbrush. Dental hygiene must be way more complicated than I realized because there was an ENTIRE AISLE devoted to just toothbrushes. I weighed my choices. I've seen the ones with the flexible necks before. But some of them now have rubber tentacles coming off the sides. Since when do my gums need a French tickler? And the ones with the pad for cleaning your tongue and the inside of your cheeks have a sample of the cleaning pad on the outside of the package for you to touch. It felt like a squishy dog toy. I tried to find a normal toothbrush, but I was already in too deep. Halfway down the aisle they looked normal enough, but then I got into the fine print. Full size or compact head. Medium, soft, and extra-soft bristles. Arranged in rows or in a swirl pattern. Single brush or two-pack. Solid color handles or glittery. Did someone turn up the heat in the store? My jacket was really tight around my wrists. The damned toothbrushes had me completely flustered. I quickly exited the aisle and found myself face to face with the "Family Planning" section.

I stood and stared at the sign for a minute, processing. Family. Planning. A revelation washed over me: some MARRIED couples use condoms. I never thought about it before. Condoms. I just assumed they were for when your social life makes your gynecologist blush. Condoms. Like tiny rubber parachutes. Condoms. But apparently they're not just for dating anymore! Condoms. Because there's nothing quite as erotic as the smell of latex. Condoms. As if my husband were a sailor, and I needed something to put between me and the souvenir syphilis he brought home from Guam. Condoms. The last time I bought them they were still made out of sheep intestines. Once at the end of a date I said, "Are you kidding me?! I paid for dinner AND slaughtered a sheep, and now you claim to have a HEADACHE?!?" Condoms. Everyone giggles when the teacher demonstrates how to put one on a banana because everyone knows you can't get pregnant the first time you eat a banana. Condoms.

I started to examine the choices. Good grief! It was almost as bad as the damned toothbrushes. This must be how men feel when shopping in Victoria's Secret: if I get one too big, then she will think I think she's fat, but if I buy one too small, then she won't be able to wear it until she exchanges it for a larger size... SERIOUSLY. Does the sizing relate to any actual measurement or just a man's self esteem level? Regular, large, larger, magnum, gigantor, missile silo, then medium, smallish, teeny, micro-mini. And then there are all the options. Ribbed, rippled, rotating, revolving, prelubed, warming, tingling, burning, spermicide, waterslide, and the ever-popular MOODICIDE. Don't get me started on the fruit flavors, the neon colors, the glow-in-the-dark, or the perfect-for-water-balloons series. What, no blinking lights? None that play music?

Condoms. All kinds of 'em. And at the WALMART! Isn't this the place that used the sanitize the naughty language from all the cds? I swear that the Beastie Boys Ill Communication cassette tape I bought in 1996 at WalMart has all the curse words blurred out. The dude says, "If it's going to be that kind of party, I'm going to stick my [zzrrrrrp!] in the mashed potatoes." But being an English major, I was able to use context clues to infer the original wording of the line. And IT CURLED MY HAIR. True story. So that very same WalMart that made me work so hard to enjoy the subtle humor of the Beastie Boys is now running some kind of condom carnival between the damned toothbrushes and the Dora backpacks. Times, they are a'changin'. If that music censor from the mid-90s could only see them now. It would curl his hair, too.

So, yeah, the condoms also got me flustered. I left the store with only my groceries. No new toothbrush. No neon, strawberry, magnum supremes. Who knew I was so sensitive?

*Robb will cut and paste this blog entry in its entirity into Section 1.14.a of his application for sainthood.