Next time on Rocky and Bullwinkle, “Special Delivery”, or “My Mom is a Saint”.
(Note – much like The Octopus, this is an especially lewd story. Unlike The Octopus, I give this a PG-13 rating. Proceed at your own discretion).
I was trying to think of some witty or clever way to start this one, but fuck it, I’ll get to the point – condoms in Japan are small.
I’m not trying to make some staggering and broad generalization about the penis size of Japanese men. Nor am I trying to make any boastful claims about the size of my own. All I’m saying is that, for me at least, the condoms they sell here are too small for me.
A few months after dating my ex, I found myself running out of the “just in case…” condoms I’d brought with me from America. I’d tried a few Japanese brands with no luck, and given how expensive one pack is, I didn’t really want to keep buying something that would ultimately become a $3 water balloon. It was clear that I’d need some condoms sent from back home.
The request to send more condoms ultimately fell on my mother. I know, your immediate reaction is “why didn’t you just ask one of your friends?” I had my reasons, which I won’t go into. But I thought long and hard about it (absolutely no pun intended), and no matter how I cut it Mom always remained the best choice. She just happened to be putting together a care package for me she was going to send in the next day or so. The simplest course of action would be to just have her throw in a box or two along with the other stuff. I figured we were both adults and could handle the situation maturely enough. …I’m surprised that after only a few months in the country, I’d already lost that much of my handle of reality.
Y’see, while some of you might be able to get away with this with *your* parents, I certainly could never get away with it with *my* parents.
My parents, the people who would wait to have the Birds and Bees talk with me while we were driving somewhere. Because I can’t escape from a car going 60MPH down the highway. …Although there certainly were times when I gave it some serious thought. “Hmm, well, it always seemed to work fairly well for the A-Team…”
To teach me the Birds and Bees, Dad left a porno in my room once when I was 14 (the porn flick that contains the infamous “gym downstairs” scene for those of you who’ve read the Worst Porn Ever editorial). When I questioned him about it, he simply said “You should watch it…it’ll teach you what goes where.” …In retrospect though, this was fairly genious, and I’m thinking of doing the same if I ever have sons. On the other hand, Mom was always very staunchly anti-porn, a value she tried to instill in me (if only she knew how so very badly she failed…). She used to tell me that porn made Ted Bundy into a serial killer. I was too young to really know about the Ted Bundy murders, so I always wondered if that was some secret character on Married…With Children I hadn’t seen yet. A brother of Al, perhaps?
Anyway, I worked up the courage and gave my mom a call before she sent off my care package.
Me: Hey Mom, I have a very adult question to ask you. I don’t want discussion about it, I don’t want to talk about it, just say “Yes I can” or “No I can’t” and leave it at that. Can you do that?
Me: …Ok. …Ok. So, you’re sending up a care package for me, right? If it’s not too much trouble, could you throw in a box or two of condoms in there as well?
Mom: ….So, you’re having sex, huh?
Me: See, this is exactly the kind of road I asked you not to go down.
Mom: Okay, okay. ……Well, you are being safe right? Do you need condoms now? Do you want me to send them express overnight?
Me: Just throw them in the care package, that will be fine.
She then asked me the question that NO man should EVER be asked from his mother, EVER.
Mom: Do you need regulars, or magnums?
This is the real reason Oedipus gouged his eyes out, and I gotta say, I felt an urge to do the same.
A week or two later the care package came, and sure enough included inside were two boxes of condoms – lubricated, and extra ribbed. While standing there, holding the condoms my mother had sent from home, I had a disturbing realization.
At some point, my Mom, while standing in the condom aisle of a drugstore buying condoms for her son, had this thought – “Hmm, now which is better? Lubricated is nice…but then again, Extra Ribbed might be fun for her….oh heck, I’ll just get both!”
I dunno what one has to do to qualify for Sainthood, but if this doesn’t cut it I dunno what will. I can just picture her at the register too, and as the clerk scans them Mom will be sure to point out “Oh, those aren’t for me. They’re for my son. He lives in Japan. …You know, the condoms over there are too small.” From that point on, whenever Mom sent me a care package she’d throw in two boxes of condoms, which were always of two different types.
God Bless mothers who look out for their sons.