“Of course I know how to use a condom, Dad! They taught us in health class last year!"
“Really? And how did you practice this important skill?”
“We used a banana.”
“Great. Show me.”
“Yeah, Dad. Like I just carry condoms with me everywhere I go.”
“Yeah, well maybe you should!”
This is not an unusual conversation in my household. My daughter, Daisy Mae, recently turned 17. She looks older than her years and is, in a mother’s strictly unbiased opinion, a beautiful girl. She has a tendency to attract boys a couple years older than she is, which means that Mr. Bean and I have our work cut out for us, if we intend to get through the next three years without becoming grandparents.
Daisy was preparing to go out with her then-boyfriend, Devon, a 19-year-old who seemed intent on living his entire summer at the beach.
“OK, well, look. Mom and I have to run out for dog food. We’ll be back around 6:00. What time is Loverboy showing up?”
“I don’t even know for sure if we’re going out tonight,” Daisy scowled as she looked at her phone, “he just said he’s stuck helping his mom at the market.”
Mr. and I headed out to get dog food, followed by a stop at Chipotle for a quick bite to eat. Chipotle was a popular spot that night, as we had about a ten-minute wait in line.
As we neared the front of the line, I looked down on the floor and was surprised to see that someone had dropped a wrapped condom.
I nudged Mr. Bean, “Wow, Honey, look! God had left us a condom! Do you think it’s a sign?”
He looked to where I pointed and snickered. “It appears that God wants us to quiz our smart-mouthed kid about her birth control.”
“And Lo, there did appear before them a,” I reached down and picked up the condom, “a Lime-green Trojan Twisted Pleasure, with a reservoir tip, and extra lubrication. And the people took up the condom and declared it good.” I slipped in and out of a bad Charleton Heston voice, giggling like a 12-year-old.
The woman in front of me looked over her right shoulder. “OK, I just want to go on record saying that did NOT fall out of my purse, OK?”
“Duly noted.” Mr Bean and I were laughing hysterically at this point.
When we arrived home, Mr. immediately summoned our daughter.
“Oh, Daisy Mae! Come here, sweetheart! God has brought unto us an opportunity to prove your condom-sheathing skills. Quick; grab a banana and come here!”
Daisy set down the Wii controller and leveled her very best “Really?” gaze at us. “Seriously? You two went out and bought condoms, just so I could prove to you that I know how to put one on? You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh, no,” I said, “God sent us this condom. He delivered it to us at the Chipotle by the mall, so that we could bring it to you! It’s God’s condom. It's a magic condom for all we know. You can’t dis it.”
“Oh for gawd’s sake. What the hell is this? A Twisted Pleasure condom? Jeez! It’s fluorescent green. OK, that’s so wrong. Gimme that banana...”
She tore open the wrapper, grabbed the condom by the reservoir tip….and shook it vigorously until it flapped about like a limp wind sock. She looked at the banana. She looked at the condom. “Shit. I did that wrong. Oh, whatever!” She started to drop it, but then looked at it again and started to laugh. “Man, that would make, like, the best water balloon EVER.”
The condom, as is happened, was capable of holding an entire pint of water, with room to spare. Daisy spent about 45 minutes playing with her new water balloon on the back porch until it finally burst.
“OK, I will NEVER, EVER believe any guy who tells me that the condom is too small for him to wear. That thing would have fit a horse!”
Lesson 121. Completed.
The next afternoon, I dropped Daisy off at the beach, where she was meeting Devon. “Hey; have fun, Baby. Behave yourself.”
She looked back at me as she got out of the car. “Yeah, it looks like I won’t have a choice about that, as clearly, I don’t know how to put on a condom!” She winked.
I love you, Daisy Mae.