Where it All Ends

Many times over the past few years, the occasion has presented itself where I need to go to a store to buy my wife some variety of “feminine product.” Every time I do this I inevitably hear from friends and/or family that they “would never do that” or that they “wouldn’t be caught dead with that stuff.” One friend even mentioned that she thought men were genetically made unable to so much as walk down that particular aisle.

Yesterday was one such day. It also happened to be Christmas Day. All that really meant was that I had to go to a truck stop to buy the products as it was the only “store” open. I went, bought what my wife needed and headed home. It did occur to me, however, that the whole genetic repulsion most men seem to have to the feminine needs aisle is solved in a truck stop. What I needed was merely inches away from bags of potato sticks and stacks of firewood. What man would admit to being unable to go down the aisle for firewood? No man I know.

Now I admit that when I was twelve, I didn’t want my Mom to sit her purse next to me at church. I thought it made me look “iffy.” But, as I said, I was twelve. I also thought that my Uncle Bruce invented the Pet Rock and that my Dad was the first to cook up a batch of Chex Party Mix. These days I don’t have a problem with holding purses, using pink cell phones, or storing my wife’s lipstick in my pocket if she is sans her purse.

I actually relish the opportunity to buy such products. Here is what I normally do. I drive down to Williams Bothers’ Pharmacy, walk in proudly and announce in a loud, steady voice.

“Mr Williams, I want you to sell me some feminine pads. In fact, today I think I’ll have Always Brand with Wings. For I am a heterosexual male with a wife of childbearing age.”

I mean, that’s what being straight is all about. That’s why it’s the only sexual preference for me.