Picture the scene: it’s 9am the morning after a night that consisted of 7 pints of Guinness, overambitious ‘sexy’ dancing, and a falafel. With bloodshot eyes, you shuffle to the toilet, careful not to step too enthusiastically lest your head fall from its shoulders. Shame and bile creep up your throat, and your brain takes you through a grotesque slide show of the behaviour that led you to this moment: here you are, standing next to the DJ booth being ignored as you shout “Sean-a-Paul and Blu Cantrell” in a way that at the time seemed at once friendly and coquettish. Awww… And that’s you there, telling your colleague that when you first met them, you thought they were a cunt! Isn’t that nice? Oh! And here you are, chuckling at a stream of your own piss as you squat between two cars and your friend dry heaves over a bin. Happy days.

Oh fuck.

There’s no toilet roll.

Knowing that this morning’s bowel movements will be akin to a thousand blackbirds escaping a shoebox, you steel yourself for a regrettably essential trip to Tesco. Your only items on the motion-sickness inducing conveyor belt are a 12 pack of Andrex, and single can of Fanta Fruit Twist. And then some twat that you forgot about because you’ve hidden the fuck out of them on Facebook, bounds up to you with a trolley full of quinoa, kale and opinions, and after telling you about the promotion they got at their yoga iron man vintage post grad festival, gives you a pitying smile, gestures to your purchases and says “big night last night then?”

Here are some other occasions that buying stuff has resulted in being waterboarded by embarrassment.

Condoms

Hey, I’m a grown woman who has sexy sex. And do you know what’s sexy? Safety! Safety is sexy.

I am in one of those smaller supermarkets, and after wandering the limited aisles for the 5^th time, I resign myself to the fact that the prophylactics are behind the kiosk with all the bad things (hard liquor, cigarettes, and inexplicably: tampons).

No matter: I’m confident! I’m empowered! If you like it then you shudda put a bag on it… am I right?!

The only option on display is an enormous box of 24. Knowing that making such a purchase would almost certainly doom me to a year of accidental celibacy and permanently mummified fingers, I ask the young man behind the desk “Is that multipack of condoms all you have?”

“I think we’ve got some ribbed ones out back, hang on. Dave! DAVE! Mate, would you mind checking the store room to see if we’ve got any ribbed jonnies left?” By which point a considerable queue of giggling customers has formed behind me. I wait, the queue expanding, trying to avoid eye contact with the grinning checkout boy. Dave returns from his epic journey to shout, “None left, only the 24 packs and some tropical lube” across the store.

I mumble that I’ll take the multipack, and leave.

Cystitis Medicine

I have, of course, already run through the myriad reasons why cystitis is so fantastic, but here’s another one. A friend of mine went on holiday to Morocco with her mother, and was hit with a visit from the vaginal devil.

Together, they found a local pharmacy. Unfortunately, my friend cannot speak Arabic, and the pharmacist could not speak English, so what ensued was a nightmare game of charades in which her heroic mum kept pointing to her crotch, and then acting out ‘Fire’. All the while, repeating “HOT VAGINA. BURNING VAGINA”, to the amusement of tourists stocking up on sun cream.

Pregnancy Test

Buying a pregnancy test when you really don’t want to be pregnant is at best a nervy affair. An insecure 19-year-old, I scanned the selection, made my choice, and went up to the counter. The woman behind the till had kind eyes and a helpful smile. She scanned the test, looked up, and said in a tone that should really be reserved for telling someone they’ve won the lottery, ‘Ohhh! They’re buy one get one free today!”. Conscious of the people waiting behind me, and terrified that someone I know might be in their number, I garbled “that’s fine, I only need the one”. Her helpful smile grew even more helpful, as she started to step out from behind the till saying “Nonsense! You can’t turn down a bargain like that! These things are expensive!”

She nipped over to the relevant shelf, and then yelled across to me “Looks like that was the last one!”

“No worries”, I say as she makes her way back, but instead of resuming her place at the counter, she raises a finger “Now, I’ll just check out the storeroom for you”. Oh god. Her helpful, helpful smile was lighting up the room and demanding the attention of my fellow customers. Returning approximately 3 minutes later with a different make of pregnancy test, winking at me as she popped it into the bag, she asked:

“Do you have an advantage card?”

“No”

“Isn’t that one, there?” she points to my open purse from which I am removing a ten pound note.

“Oh right, yes. It is”

And with every bite of the ‘meal deal’ I purchased using said points some months later, I thought of my shame, and of that woman’s helpful smile.