Power of Pink

Sometimes stuff just happens.

With Banana-man around like my shadow, I’d put off this purchase for as long as possible, but finally had to do it.  I slipped the discretely generic box into the shopping cart, told him it was for me and meandered around the store for a while. 

In the DVD section, I left him for a few minutes and when I returned he had the box in his hands trying to read it. “What’s this?” 

“Those are for me.”  I stated, watching him turn the box over and over.

“What is it?”

“Feminine Pads.”


“Sanitary Pads.”  I offer up as an alternate. 

He tosses the box back into the cart, his interest instantly gone.

Eventually we leave; his purchases in his bag, my purchase in my bag.

We set off the alarm as we pass through the exit.

The Package Policeman singles me out as Banana-man is clearly not the usual suspect.  He asks for my bag, removes the only purchase, spins it around looking for that metallic tag, finds nothing.  “Hey!”  He calls to another Package Policeman, “Do these things have tags?” and waves the box for him and everyone to see.

“What is it?”  The other Guy calls out.

My Package Policeman looks to me for the answer.

“Sanitary Pads.”

His eyebrows pop just a bit.  “Nevermind, I got it!”  He yells back.  “Real sorry about this, so sorry.”  He backwaters rapidly while trying frantically to get the box back into the bag which is fighting back. 

“It’s OK, don’t worry about it.”  I say calmly, taking the box from his hands and rebagging it.

“Oh, I’m real sorry.” He’s clearly upset, his hands are shaking as he initials my receipt.

“No worries.  It’s OK.”

Walking to the car Banana-man says, “They should be in pink boxes.”

He’s right.  It was my fault, I’d opted for discrete and gotten the box man-handled by everyone within 20 feet of it. 

Pink would have surely protected me…


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