One of the perks of being a girl is getting the occasional itch-that-dare-not-be-named. By the time you are 46, if you are lucky, you have had your fair share, so when you notice one starting, there is no doubt you know you need to deal with it, pronto. Such was the case this weekend, Sunday night, about 10 minutes before the drug store was due to close.
“I need you to stop at the drugstore for me and pick something up,” I said to my husband as he headed out the door to go get our son from a friend’s house.
His eyes glazed over and his face froze. After being married to a 46 year-old woman for 20 years, he knew what Monistat was and knew that I needed to get some, pronto. He also knew that he’d rather get root canal without anesthesia than have to go to the drugstore to buy it for me.
“Can’t wait til tomorrow, huh?”
Grudgingly he left. When he got to the store, he was dismayed to discover that there were no less than a dozen different Monistat products.
“Do you want the one day, three day or seven day?” he whispered to me over the phone.
Him: “Ovule, ointment, or cream?”
Him: “Regular, Dual Action or Triple Action?”
Me: “What’s the difference?”
Him: “Oh Jeez. I don’t know. Just pick one!”
Me: “What does it say?”
Him: “Hang on, someone’s coming!! (pause) Dual Action comes with anti-itch cream and Triple Action comes with anti-itch cream and soothing wipes. Oh my god. Just shoot me!”
Once we determined the right product, he grabbed the box and ran for the checkout counter. The salesclerk swiped the box. Then, swiped again. After the third time, she pressed a button and spoke into a microphone. “Price check on Monistat!” her voice boomed over the store loudspeaker.
My husband cringed.
A voice rang out from the back of the store.
“Where is that?”
“Aisle 3. FEMININE HYGIENE,” the salesclerk boomed back.
My husband groaned.
“One day, three day or seven days?”
The salesclerk pressed the button again. “ONE DAY!”
“Ovule, ointment or cream?” came the voice from the back of the store again.
“OVULE!” boomed the salesclerk, looking at the box.
“Regular, Dual Action or Triple Action?” yelled the voice from the back.
My husband shook his head and wondered what defense he could use in court if he killed the salesclerk with a box of Monistat.
The salesclerk finally got the right price, rang it up and then turned to my husband and asked, “Will there be anything else?”
Desperate to reclaim just a smidgen of his virility, he scanned behind the counter for something else to buy.
“Trojans!” He announced in a deep voice. “Gimme a box of Trojans!”
The salesclerk raised an eyebrow and looked at my husband squarely.
“Oh, sure!” She snorted. “Good luck with THAT!”
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