I’ve been buying condoms for a long time.
I’ve bought them in different varieties and from all sorts of places.
I’ve overpaid for packs of three from convenience stores, I’ve bought old dusty boxes of 12 from K-Mart (Because who actually buys condoms from K-Mart?), and I’ve bought boxes of 24 out of locked glass cases at Wal-Mart like they were Nintendo game cartridges.
I’ve even bought individual “loosies” from the “Ooh La La” store for 50 cents each in my more meager days. (They actually kept those in a bucket.)
I remember the first time I purchased a condom. I was 12 years old and on a road trip with my family to visit relatives in Florida. We stopped at a gas station and I borrowed the key from the attendant to use the restroom. After I had zipped up and was washing my hands, I noticed a condom dispenser mounted on the wall that read “Hygeia.”
The condoms cost 75 cents each and came in three varieties: “Ultra Thin,” “Ribbed,” and “French Tickler.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out three quarters that twinkled in my hand like magic beans. I placed them in the coin slot, turned the knob, and out dropped a single French Tickler latex condom. (Of course I chose the French Tickler.)
I was years away from actually using a condom so I don’t know why I bought it, but I stuffed it into my pocket and walked out of the restroom like I had returned from “Narnia” with a magical amulet in my possession.
I kept the condom in my pocket for the entire trip and took care of it along the way. I made sure it wasn’t pressed against any sharp objects in my pocket; I squeezed its rolled edges through the packaging to make sure it was all right; I even took it into the bathroom at night to examine it and see how it had managed through the day. I did everything short of feeding it–I essentially had a “pet” condom.
I tried to keep up the routine after my family and I returned home at the end of the week, but I inadvertently left the condom in my pocket when I put my pants in the clothes hamper to be laundered.
I don’t know if it was destroyed in the wash or if my mother found it and threw it out–which I doubt since she would have likely confronted me about it–so I don’t know what happened to “Frenchie.” (No, I didn’t really give it a name.)
I would later learn from a female friend that French Ticklers were more of a novelty anyway, and didn’t have quite the stimulating effect as advertised. I was disappointed. I guess I had higher expectations for something that made your junk look like a “sea urchin.”
That technology was state-of-the-art at the time. Now condoms are sold that vibrate and play music, and I think I saw one with l.e.d. lights.
But here’s to simpler times and to my old pal, “Frenchie.” (Okay, so I gave it a name.)
And here’s to the remaining box of condoms I have tucked away in my sock drawer, and to the dust I blew off the box before I put it in there.
What can I say–I was running low and K-Mart had a sale.
Lesson Learned: The word “rubber” is a hateful term in the condom community.
