At Home:

“Costco has a coupon for feminine hygiene products,” she said.

I started to shuffle papers around trying to look busy. “Uh huh?” I said.

“So you’re going there soon. Can you pick some up for me?”

I ran out of papers to shuffle. “Um,” I said.

“You know where they are?” She asked. Before I could say anything, she continued, “They’re over by the pharmacy on the far wall.”

“How will I know which ones to get?”

“Get the ones that I use.”

“But they’re so many different types. I’ll probably get all confused.”

She pointed to the picture on the coupon. “Get the ones that look like this,” she said. Then she pointed to others in the picture and said, “not these ones or those ones, just these ones.”

“Uh Ok.” I said. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to explore the feminine hygiene section of Costco.

At Costco:

I save this part of the shopping list for last and finally end up in the appropriate section. There’s only one other person there–an older woman at the far end of the aisle looking at perfume gift packages.

I look at the massive array of different products and have no idea where to start. I look at the coupon, then I look at the shelves, and back at the coupon. I’m starting to feel a little hot.

I see a shopping cart poke around the corner at the other end of the aisle. It’s pushed by a cutie. Yup, I am feeling overly warm now, maybe I’m even perspiring now. Can’t be a cold-sweat because I’m warm…

The girl sees me, pauses for a couple of seconds, pretends to look at stuff on the opposite side of the aisle, then turns around and disappears with her shopping cart.

I go back to trying to figure out what I’m supposed to get. Another woman comes around the corner. The same reaction happens from her.

I’m pretty sure I’ve found the right package. It’s a massive double pack with some sort of free gift thing attached to it. I grab it quickly and throw it into my cart. I get the hell out of the aisle (past the older woman) who couldn’t care less what I was doing in the aisle.

I remember that I want to check out muscle rubs (sore muscles from too much dancing), so I go over to that section and stand looking at the various creams and ointments unable to decide. That’s when I realize I’m also standing smack in the middle of the condom and personal lubricant section. I get out of that aisle and decide I’ve had enough. I’m going home.

Standing in the check out line, I notice my heart rate returning to normal. A woman in the other line looks at my cart, looks at me, then looks at my cart again. I follow her gaze and see that the feminine hygiene product in its bulk packaging is sitting like a king on a throne high atop the pile of shopping that I’ve done. It’s like a beacon calling out for all to see.

The cold-sweat returns.