I have a lot of condoms. I couldn’t explain the how and why of it really, but i do. I never buy them or go out deliberately hunting for them, but i’ve got nearly a dozen of them in my room anyhow. It’s actually sortof like a mutant power. You know, healing factor, weather control, and the all important latex magnetism.
I don’t collect them in an sort of deliberate way, and even once i have them they are basically just strewn randomly around my room. It’s not as though i’m seeing a lot of traffic through there, if you know what i mean.
Well, this “strewning,” if you will, turns out to be the most disadvantageous way to store the things. Especially when you’re trying to find them all and put them in the bottom of an innocent box full of tylenol and allergy medication. Especially when your delerious mother is coming to help you move, and she picks up things first and asks questions later (read that as: “No, mom… don’t pick up the monitor” “Shut up, we have to finish so i can go down the shore”).
[…] I was idly cleaning my room this morning in what was a vain attempt to finally distribute the last of my packed belongings from moving in last month when i ran across my notorious stash of condoms. To refresh the memory of those of you who didn’t read me way back when i had a whopping three visitors a day, i have a giant ziplock back of q-tips which conceals a sizable handful of condoms that i never spent money on and have never used. They don’t seem like the sort of thing i should throw away, so they’ve continued to live a blissfully undisturbed existence nestled in the depths of a multitude of cotton swabs. […]