Remember the movie "Summer of '42" and the scene where the teenage boy can't get past his embarrassment to tell pharmacist he wants to buy condoms?
Flash forward 60 years and I still identify with that teenage boy. There are some things I am just too modest to buy at the drug store. You know what I'm talking about. Anything to do with bodily functions. Anything.
Well, that's becoming a problem what with the three surgeries I've endured this summer. I needed some over-the-counter stuff to help regulate my intestinal problems so I turned to the Mystery Woman for assistance. She volunteered to make the buy. I didn't notice at the time, but she was eager to help.
A little too eager.
We were parked at the front door of the pharmacy. No way in hell was I going in the drug store. And that's where the trouble began.
Although I don't know but a few people in Minneapolis, I didn't want to be recognized. So I put on sunglasses and pulled my gimme cap down around my ears. "Thanks, hon," I said prematurely.
She was half way out the van when her body started to convulse with laughter. Her eyes took on a shine I had not seen before. I swear her voice dropped an octave when she giggled, "Do the xxxx come in sizes?"
I was in serious trouble now.
She made it almost to the front door but executed a neat pirouette. I swear she began to levitate as she floated back to the passenger-side window. In a voice a little too loud, she asked, "What flavor xxxx would you like, dear. Lemon lime?"
A crowd gathered. The outside temp was still barely 60 degrees but sweat rolled off my forehead. "Get in the van," I begged and snarled through clenched teeth.
"Oh dear," she cried in mock concern, "are you in distress?" Damn right, I was in distress. "OK, hon. I'll see if the pharmacist will sell me only one xxxx just to get you home."
I don't know what I'm going to do when if I ever need to buy dxxpers.