Someone had to say it. And she does it so well.
And girls: You too. You bring condoms, too.
It reminds me of the time I brought my first condoms. I was moving to an island for the summer to live in a tent and escape from the world as I knew it. So my mom took me to Target to get supplies so that the search to find myself might be made more comfortable with bug spray, suntan lotion and Gold Bond. (The list from the campground told me I needed it. I had no idea what Gold Bond was for or that it had anything to do with preventing male junk form chaffing until I got there and everyone made fun of me for having it.)
All of a sudden my mom was like, You need condoms. Do you want me to buy you condoms? I know what happens at these summer resort jobs. I want you to have condoms. Of course, I said OK because I thought the whole scenario was uncomfortable and funny and terribly out of character for my mom. And it would be novel to say that my mom bought me condoms once.
That summer, those Trojans saw the light of day three times. Once at the airport security check when my bag was frisked and a person in uniform whipped a row of squares from its hiding place for the men with the big guns standing nearby to see. Then two more times on the island when my friend needed them so she could have the sex. I didn’t use a one. And I’m glad because apparently there was a scorching case of herpes roaming around the communal campground. And even condoms don’t work so good when it comes to that type of STD. Is this a good time to say never look a gift horse in the mouth? Maybe that doesn’t quite work here.