The Product

Earlier this week I was reading some horror stories by gentlemen who had received the dreaded order to pick-up "the product". I won't mention any names (Robert the Llama) but my heart went out to them. All men live in fear of this particular moment of humiliation. But being married, we get used to it.

Now when this little problem fell on my head, I was probably a little less prepared than most. You see the fact was that the only species of "the product" that I was aware of at the time were those rather large military bandage type things accompanied by matching belt and possibly shoes, I'm not sure about the shoes, but I am positive about the belt. These were to be seen occasionally at home when I was a child. Growing up when I did, these were one of the many mysterious 'things' of women which were of no concern of ours. These things were not explained nor were they asked about. Sort of like that thing with scissor handles on one end and a curved clamp of some kind at the other, again it was, and still is, a mystery.

And as strange as it may seem, I never again saw or heard about "the product" in any detail. I don't know why, I spent some time around the ladies and all that, but I suppose in the company I kept, it was not a topic of conversation. Anyway, when the Countess crooked her finger in my general direction and uttered that fatal order, early in my married life, I cringed, but of course dared not refuse. But on the way to the store (and out of her sight) I decided to take a bold stance and grasp the bull by the horns, as it were. I strode briskly to the "aisle where no man goes on purpose", no backing and filling for me you see, and finding the appropriate boxes of the wrong "product" piled them high in the cart. Feeling my oats by this time I rolled boldly up to check-out throwing a few copies of Cosmo and Women's Day on top for good measure...I actually looked for the belt thing, but stopped short of asking about it. I assumed this part of the thing was already taken care of...

Needless to say about 30 minutes later I was back with some embarrassing returns and explicit written instructions with pictures and diagrams. I had found out, rather loudly, that the large military bandage things were not exactly "the product au currant" this year. Actually I think she said century, but I'm not sure. Somewhat chastened, I tucked the bag under my coat as best I could and went meekly home. Oh, she kept the magazines. On the plus side, I have never been given that order since, so I've got that going for me...