Stopping by the drug store this evening to pick up a few things, I felt a certain hesitation as I approached the check-out counter.
I was conscious of the fact that every item in my basket represented a physical problem of mine. None was especially alarming by itself, but, taken en masse, they shocked even me. Could the woman at the register fail to wonder what sort of person needed products to treat toenail fungus, hemorrhoids, gas, acne, dandruff, athlete’s foot, and bad breath? Would she not be likely to raise her eyebrows when she spotted preparations for both constipation and diarrhea? Surely she would nod to herself knowingly as she rang up the vitamin packs promising to enhance male potency. And so on.
But I was worried over nothing. When she briefly met my eyes to ask me to swipe my card, there was not a trace of judgment in her look. She had seen it all.
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