Nothing to See Here

I live in a very tight-knit community of about 2,000 homes.  Everybody knows everybody... or they at least 'know of' everybody.  The 'hood is laid out on a 2-mile circle.  We often refer to it as "The Circle".  Catchy, don't you think?  My point, here, is that nothing gets in or out of The Circle without The Circle's media team being alerted.  And with the help of all the high tech social networking like Twitter and Facebook, news travels faster than the speed of light. 

Stay with me.  I AM going somewhere with this vein of thought...

Near The Circle are various shopping venues:  drug stores, grocery stores, Target, Walmart, the mall.  All 2,000+ of us shop at these venues, so of course, we run into each other everywhere.  While this 'close-knit-community' thing is awesome for gossip friendships, partying, helping others in need, emergency situations, etc; the 'close-knit-community' thing is not awesome for discretion, weight gain, public drunkenness, slovenly hygiene habits, and the like.  Running to the store to pick up a few things can be tricky... and very public... 

... Like this one time (at band camp?) after a children's birthday party:  I started my period (There!  I said it!  I am a 39-year old woman who gets her period and I am not ashamed!!).  After the party, I made a mad dash to the local drug store to stock up on the necessary paraphernalia - 1 pallet of super maxi pads, 3 boxes of tampons (w/ varying levels of absorbency - stop the gagging, boys.  If we have to endure it, you can at least know how the mess works!), and 2 boxes of panty liners (1 for full-coverage panties and 1 for thong-style panties).  TMI?  Get over it.  I had to.

You don't have to be a mathematician to figure out the odds of me running into someone I know (2,000+ people in a neighborhood; I know approximately 60% of the 2,000; the drugstore is less than 2 miles away from the neighborhood; which train will arrive first?).   As I make my way to the cash register (conveniently located at the front of the store), my arms overflowing with menstrual management items, I run into a friend - the FATHER of one of the kids from the birthday party WE were just attending.  I couldn't hide that stack of boxes!  And a woman carrying 36 boxes decorated with giant flowers does not blend.  So I made a flash decision to own my womanhood and not be embarrassed by my purchase.  The father (I shall call him Brian... cuz, you know, that's his name) stops to say hi to me.  His eyes never drop below my eyes.  He was clearly making every effort to 'not notice' the giant, flowering tower of pads and rods.  He was such a gentleman as he commented on the birthday party, what he was there to pick up, how fun the party was, blah blah blah.  I stood there, chatting with Brian, as if I was holding a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread.  Nothing to see here.  Just keep moving along.  The encounter at the counter was great for party conversations, tho.  Yes it was. 

Speaking of my period (no, I'm not done with this topic, yet.  I've got a good 10 years till I'm done with this topic), I was recently a little over a week 'late'.  Panic ensued and I ran to the local grocery store to pick up a pregnancy test.  Why the grocery store and not the drug store?  I dunno.  Gun shy, maybe?  But I also needed bananas, milk, and bread.  Remember the word problem I presented earlier?  Same outcome.  I ran into many friends and acquaintances AND the town gossip.  You bet your sweet ass I covered that CLEARLY MARKED box with a bunch of bananas!  "Heeeeey friends and neighbors (and gossip girl)!  Yeah, ran outta bananas and milk!  Yes, yes.  I'm good.  You?  Good?  Good.  Great.  Wellllllll..... gotta go!"

You know what else I catch myself doing?  Heading for the checkout line with a female cashier (preferably an older woman) when I have girlie things in my cart.  My checkout hierarchy goes something like this:  1) older woman; 2) any-aged woman 3) older man 4) any-aged man 5) teenage girl 6) abandon my cart and leave the store 7) teenage boy.  You know, I'm just not in the mood to watch some pimply teenage boy smirk at my cart full of girlie stuff.

While I have you, I have a confession to make (yes, another one).  I have been wanting to try that new his/hers KY liquid stuff (cuz I'm a 39-year old woman who has THE SEX with my husband!  I know!!!  I'm livin' on the edge ovah here).  But for months, I have not dropped it into my cart and purchased it for fear of who I may run into or how far down the checkout chain of command I will get by the time I'm ready to pay.  I've ran the scenarios through my head at all the different stores with all the different checkout person options.  Finally, I decided to own my womanhood (again) and just buy the damned stuff!  Checkout person, friends, and gossip-girl be damned!  I am woman, watch me pay for his and hers lubricant!  (It's still in the box, by the way.  The negative pregnancy test and flowering tower of menstrual items took precedence)

-B(Sting)