Trouble In A Bubble.

It’s a funny thing about condoms, because the most important thing about buying a condom, is the diameter. A lot of packs of condoms have the diameter of the condom detailed on the packet in strange positions.

Actually, a lot of packs of condoms don’t have the diameter listed at all, which is dumb arse.  Seriously, I want to know if this condom is going to be too small and not fit on my dick and end up slipping off.  Is that too much to ask?

Condoms should have some sort of try-before-you-buy warranty so if they don’t fit properly, you can take them back, get a refund, and they can put them back on the shelf – it’s a win-win situation.

Or maybe they should have a changing room at the pharmacist… You slip out the back, have a bat, and try it on.  And if there’s a cute pharmacist you can try it on with her too.

So I grabbed two packs of condoms and I was about to leave.  Then I thought I may as well grab another pack for good luck.

As I walked towards the check-out I realised how funny it must look, and I anticipated the cheeky comments the check-out chick would give me:

“Hey, having a party are we?”

or:
“Looks like you’re up for romance tonight!”

or even:

“Hey, I guess it’s fuck time!”

To my disappointment, it wasn’t the cute brunette with big boobs that normally serves me.  It wasn’t even the bubbly Chinese girl who always makes conversation – that would have been extra funny.

It was a middle-aged Vietnamese woman named Thi.  She swiped the condoms and avoided eye-contact.

“Got Fly-buys?”

“Uh.  No.”

I guess she was just being polite.