Lost in the Condom Kingdom--Part II

When I was 8 or so, my cousins and I went on a treasure hunt through the ditches along the highway that passed in front of my house. The highlight of our adventure was finding a long, not-quite-opaque, balloon-like object we couldn't identify. We brought it home to our mothers, who were horrified.

I still remember the looks my mother and my aunt exchanged as they scoured our hands and arms with Tide and a scrub brush. Their faces alternated between reluctant amusement and something pretty close to disgust. Although no one would identify the object or its function, we were warned on pain of death never to touch such a thing again.

And I never did.

In fact, until that night at the Condom Kingdom, I’d never even seen one of the things again. Never even realized what it had been.

When I could breathe again, I related this story to my friends. They simply could not believe that a 40-year-old-woman had never knowingly seen a condom, and they felt morally obligated to educate me.

We stayed at the Condom Kingdom for hours. We made friends with the staff. We bought a single rose with a bud fashioned from a red-wrapped condom, and a lifetime supply in outrageous colors, shapes, sizes, and flavors.

Other than the rose, which fell victim to my son's curiosity, none of the condoms ever left its wrapper.

Oh, all right, we did open a glow-in-the-dark model just to see if it really glowed. Actually, you'd have to call it more of a shimmer, and if you ask me, having something like that waving around could really spoil the mood.

The evening—and the romance I was headed for—gave me quite an education.

One I never will forget.