I found an unopened box of condoms a few minutes ago. It was just laying there and I remembered them and I remembered all the things I was thinking when I bought them.
Unopened. A three-pack. Almost eight months ago. Unopened.
A while back, I looked at this little box of rubbers and worried it might not be enough. Hindsight being what it is, I know I bought exactly three too many.
And now, what do I do with them? Naturally, there's the part about doing with them as they were intended. There are various arts and crafts projects that could evolve out of such a thing. I could make balloons. But mostly, what do I do with them this red hot minute? I don't exactly have a condom drawer or anything.
There is no hiding place or special spot.
In a hurry -- at the time -- to get ready to leave, I just put them in a gift bag left over from my birthday, a bright and happy gift bag. Home to my collection of nostalgic jimmy hats.
The rest of the day, I'll go back in my head to that gift bag and shake my head, bemused and older now; thinking, "Oh you kids."
The rest of the day, I'll find a moment in time where hope sprang eternal and joy was around the corner -- where feeling better meant getting naked and sliding on a thin latex barrier. It was somewhere in there that I couldn't see happiness in my pocket but knew it was in somebody's pants. Somebody, somewhere.
And that was simple even if it wasn't pure. And I was lazy. In the end, too lazy to use them.
And now I've got to go. Off to work with my broken big toe and my hat full of questions.
Like Robert Earl Keen once sang, "The road goes on forever and the party never ends."
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