Last week a woman encased in a giant condom approached me on the street and asked if I'd like to sample her product. I politely accepted a long strand of colorful condom packages and stuffed them into my jacket pocket.
The only reason I took the condoms was because I respected the career choice of the lady in the condom costume. After all, the fact that she was wrapped in a giant condom meant that she was playing the role of the penis. How daring! I'm sure this has major political implications, but I'll leave it up to you academic types to figure that out.
Having a pocketful of condoms is bound to give a girl ideas. Condoms are not items that wait patiently to be used like some of the more passive products you find happily gathering lint several years after you first dropped them into the pocket of your slicker. Condoms are as aggressive and demanding as inanimate objects are allowed to be in a civilized society. They need action, and they need it NOW!
As I walked down Michigan Avenue, I could feel the condoms stomping their little feet and pushing me toward a gaggle of construction workers who were using some powerful adjectives to describe my breasts. It was hard to resist the urgings of the tiny rubber chorus. But, ultimately, I had to break the news to the little fellas that they had the sad misfortune of landing in the custody of a lesbian.
'Oh, come on!' they yelled in unison. (It may be interesting to note that condoms have high-pitched voices and always seem to be on the brink of hysteria.) 'You've slept with men before, and you liked it. Would it kill you to try it again?'
The condoms were right. On any scale of sexuality, I would fall squarely in the bisexual camp. But at a certain point in life you have to make a choice. After age 30, trying to keep track of all those different body parts is simply exhausting. So, I decided to specialize in women. (Lucky them!)
But I've never lost my sentimental attachment to men and their pee-pees. In fact, the last time I handled a condom, I felt very sorry for the penis that I was fitting with its evening wear. The penis looked terrified, and who could blame it. If I was a penis, and someone shoved a tight piece of rubber over me, I'd be miffed!
I yanked the condoms out of my pocket and gave them a dirty look. This was my chance to avenge the dignity of the penises I have known. I marched to a trash can and dangled the condoms above it. But, suddenly, I remembered that condoms have helped me and my friends out of a lot of jams over the years. They've kept us healthy and childless, and, really, what more can you ask from a greasy piece of rubber.
So, I took pity on the condoms and gave them to a scrawny kid with bad skin who was wearing a t-shirt that read 'Player.'
'Here ya go, lady killer,' I said. And as I handed him the packages, the kid smiled at me in that way men do when a woman with noteworthy breasts gives them a pocketful of condoms.