February 01, 2008
Originally published December 18, 2003
Attention, men: Have you ever gone to the store and bought tampons for your wife? Did you feel embarassed when you did it?
Well, I have, and I didn't.
I even fucked up once and grabbed a box that didn't pick up on the scanner at the cash register. The woman cashier announced over the intercom, "I need a price check on Tampax "Bleeding Like a Stuck Hog" tampons on register three!" I just stood there and grinned until some pimply-faced boy emerged from one of the aisles and announced the price at the top of his voice while he waved a box in his hand.
Maybe I need to clarify this story. My wife did NOT run out of tampons. But supplies were low, she was beginning the moon-cycle and I was going to the store anyway. That trip wasn't the first time I bought feminine hygene products. Hell, I bought some kind of "Wash Your Pussy With THIS and Smell Like Fresh Flowers Forever" douche for her on one of those trips. None of that shit ever bothered me.
But I always made her write down EXACTLY what she wanted. I didn't mind buying it for her, but I am as clueless as they come when I hit that feminine hygene aisle. I don't understand that shit, and left to my own devices, I might come home with a box of 20-mule-team Borax instead of that "Smell Like A Flower" douche. I might come home with a bale of hay instead of tampons.
But I never minded buying the right stuff.
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