"Do they have to be form fitting?"

Directly quoted ( with permission) from an email to me from one of my good friends. This made me laugh so hard I almost peed. I needed a giggle. Now I share with you....



Ok, so now I will take my leave from the advisory council and tell you a funny as shit, Top 10 most embarrassing moments in life story. I'm at the Walgreens pharmacy counter on Friday to pick up two prescriptions on (hopefully) active insurance. I'm already feeling kind of uncomfortable since I'd just come from an afternoon of painting the exterior of my shop in sweltering, sweat-gland-flushing heat, but ended in a frenzied and very soggy cleanup due to a torrential downpour. Let's just say I'm not looking too chic at the moment, shall we? Well, the authorization phone line isn't working properly and is taking forever...so the pharm tech asks to serve the young woman behind me while we're waiting. No prob, I sidestep and busy myself with marvelling over the marketing ploys and packaging of the impulse-buy rack of medicines they have on the register counter.



I'm not an eavesdropper in general but I hear the woman asking if they carry non-latex gloves. The pharm tech says no, they have only what's on the shelves. So, trying to be helpful and friendly, I turn and ask the woman if she's looked into the foodservice-grade ones they have at Sams. I say, "they come in boxes of, like, 500 or so. But, oh!, do they have to be form-fitting? (Because sams gloves must have been patterned after a giant).

She looks at me like I've got a third nostril or something and then says something unintelligible that I, for a moment, wonder if she's speaking another language. The pharm tech makes a similarly unintelligible noise. I'm baffled. What part of me describing a box of gloves wasn't pretty easy to follow? I must have looked like a cocked head puppy hearing a funny sound at that point. Then, the girl says (very very nervously), "they're not gloves. " The pharm tech echos that sentiment with the same hint of anxiety in his voice.



Silence. (Processing....processing....processing...).



And then like a slap of reality it dawns upon my minuscule, half-listening, butting in busybody of a brain that she is shopping for latex-free CONDOMS, not gloves. Oh cruel gods of mortification!



"Oh" is all that escapes my now numb lips. And then the head goes down, the hand goes up to shield the face, and I'm the same shade red as the Walgreens brand knockoff Icy-Hot cream box I suddenly find myself staring at again....but with the paradigm shift insight from hell. The awkward silence is more than I can bear. But its long enough for me to replay the short conversation in my head, trying desperately to find where I went so disastrously wrong....and, of course, I recall my ironically phrased "do they have to be FORM FITTING" question.



I give up. This is too damned embarrassing to be gracefully dealt with anything but humor. I discard my hand shield and in the most chipper voice I can manage say,"Well, alrighty then! I'm absolutely mortified now. Whoops!!!! " My third nostril must have been flaring because the girl nervously states "I guess I'll... uh... just go have a... uh... look around" and abruptly walks away. I turn with a sheepish grin to the pharm tech who I plan on commiserating my embarrassment with only to have him begin to say something, think better of it, and then he also makes an abrupt departure from my presence.



Wow! I think, can this get ANY worse? The whole scenario at that very moment sinks in with full clarity and, yes, it gets worse...I'm standing there, completely alone at the counter, and I get a case of the giggles- the kind which gets exponentially worse in relation to how hard you're trying to stifle it. So, NOW I'm the crazy lady laughing uncontrollably-all...alone. The tech comes back over and, with a valiant effort at neutrality, informs me my insurance is "pending" and that will be $113.89 please,ma'am. I pay, and as I meet the techs eyes in a gesture of what I hope looks like calm self-assurance, offer up the parting comment, "I think I'll use the drive thru next time. " My eyes travel behind him to the pharmacist himself sitting at his computer. His eyes are closed, his lips tightly pressed together as he stifles his own giggle, obviously having heard the entire exchange. He also happens to be one of my regular customers.



Gee, I can't wait for Monday.