It's been a little while since my last post on here. Life has a funny way of getting busy at the drop of a hat. One day you're twiddling your thumbs and stopping to smell the flowers (if I could smell anyways) only to blink and be working two jobs, paying bills, parenting, and adulting in general. I have come to master the art of multitasking by scratching my ass and putting a bra on at the same time. There's no time to do one another separately. Even now I'm typing this up on my phone at my part time job rather than my computer in the comfort of my home. But this story had to be told while the memory is still fresh.
The setting is a cloudy Saturday morning in a small rural town. The ground is still wet from last night's storm, the air is warm, and the neighborhood pets are barking at whatever dared to get close to their yard. Decent enough of an image to set the scene? Now imagine a very tired 20 something year old getting ready to walk out the door for work, hand on the doorknob as she tells her boyfriend the usual 'love you' when she opens the front door and something catches her eye. She pauses in telling her boyfriend she would see him after work, blinks to make sure what she thinks she's seeing is there, and finally makes a noise of disgusted surprise at the sight of a severely used prophylactic on the porch. The screen cuts to black and at the last second a message appears:
'Based on a true story'
Yes folks, this is indeed a honest retelling of my unfortunate self coming across a used prophylactic smack dab dead center of my front porch at eight in the morning. After the initial 'what the hell?' moment shared with a now involved boyfriend, we stared at the offensive piece of trash in a myriad of emotions. Confusion at who would do such a thing and when did they do it? Anger that someone had the balls to place their severely used prophylactic on our doorstep (and filled with what I can only assume wasn't yogurt). Horror when it dawned on us that someone was going to have to get rid of it, and that task had fallen on us.
"But Katt, what if the storm blew it to your porch last night?" I will admit I had that thought for all of 3 seconds before dismissing it like a call girl after a nice romp in the sack. The condemning piece of evidence against that idea was that the severely used prophylactic was in the dead center of the porch and laid out in such a way that suggests whoever left it did so with a deliberate reason behind it. Now, if it had been askewed or somewhere in the yard I would lean more towards a gust of wind that just happened to be carrying a tied off sack of another man's handmade hand stroked baby making juice. But again, the careful precision of this placement was not from mother nature slinging it at our house with a gleeful laugh... but someone who wanted their brimming and used prophylactic to be the first thing we saw. God forbid we step in it before looking. There wouldn't be enough bleach to clean my foot off. Something like that would be an automatic amputation. Is it an overreaction? Perhaps, but just picture yourself stepping in some random splooge in a bag and then we'll see who's overreacting.
Now I don't want to point fingers, something ingrained into my head early in life... but I had a fairly decent suspicion as to who could have done such an unusual thing. Maybe they got angry for us making a certain call to a certain local authority figure for several occasions of questionable going ons in and outside of their house at dark as balls o'clock. Maybe they knew through whatever means that we may try for another kid eventually and wanted to contribute. The whole "it takes a village" thing. While I'm sure their hearts were in the right place, I can full heartedly say that we do not need outside assistance in baby making now or any time down the line. We especially do not need the help of a Rando putting forth their baby butter like a cat presents its owner a dead mouse or bird. Thanks...but pass.
"But Katt, how do you know it was them?" You may be asking. Honestly I don't know for sure it was them. It could have been a prank from the local high school hoodlums. It could be we were chosen by some superhero vigilante to continue his lineage without wanting to get directly involved. Imagine a Superman-esque man dressed in spandex with rolls of prophylactic and conception deterrent items in a utility belt wandering the dark streets of a small town. But... my money is still on the fairly new neighbors. That doesn't mean I'm going to pick up the possible key evidence and knock on their door asking them, "Good morning. Is this um... your gently used willy wrapper?" They'd probably think I was off my rocker asking them something like that!
Not only do I not want to ask them that, but I don't want to touch the thing. Who knows where it's been? It could come to life by some defying act of nature and bite me. It could be a portkey to some underground German sex dungeon of horrifying proportions. It could have a leak! Even if I wore gloves, used tongs, and went to pick it up with a small baggy much like you would with a dog dookie, I'm not touching it.
By now I'm running late for work though, so I sidestepped the ridiculously full prophylactic (I don't know why I chuckle at that word every time) and made it to the car. Did I feel bad about leaving my boyfriend to pick up another man's rubber balloon filled with baby butter? Of course, but work beckoned. And of course I was late by a few minutes. Of course my boss was there wondering where the hell I was. Of course I had to explain that I was stopped by trying to crack the unusual case of the dropped off ding-dong raincoat on my porch.
At least she got a laugh out of it.
Maybe I'll never truly know who left it or their reason behind it. Whether it be the neighbor acting on petty vengeance, a small group of high school deviants laughing about it being "JUST A PRANK BRO!" Maybe it was the hero we don't need or want, Condom Man, wanting someone to carry on his name. All I know is that I have no intention of finding out if they're going to try it again.
