I went to CVS last night to pick up some cock lotion, or, as my dad calls it, PeterCetera. A lady was already speaking to the pharmacist when I arrived. I queued up behind her with ample distance between us, giving her a pharmacy-appropriate privacy zone. (I don’t want anyone listening in on my cock lotion order, so why would I crowd her?) It so happens that the privacy zone caused me to stand about ten feet into an aisle–the “Family Planning” aisle, actually.

I stood there, absent-mindedly gazing at the rubbers and the gels and the lubes and the creams while the lady finished her business. It barely registered I was looking at the stuff, in fact, until the lady had finished her business and turned around to walk out. The route she chose was between me and the sex goodies. She quickly glanced at the goodies, then at me, then slouched down and slunk past with this awkward half-smile/half scowl that seemed to say “I am visibly uncomfortable due to my intrusion on your selection of items designed specifically for sexual intercourse. Don’t get any ideas.” I snapped out of my stupor long enough to look at her slinking past, then at the goodies, then to think “Hey! This lady thinks I’m browsing for sex items! And I’ve been here the entire time she was at the counter yakking it up with the pharmacist! She thinks I’m putting a lot of thought into this!” I wanted to yell “But I…I was just…I needed to…” but I stuttered in my brain just like I would have had I spoken out loud.

When the pharmacist asked if he could help me, I explained to him that I was picking up a prescription. He told me I was in the wrong line–that prescription pickup was at the other end of the counter.

Stupid PeterCetera.

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