Will. Just, Will. I don’t have any way to start this aside from...just...Will.
Will is the crazy friend. Everybody has one. The one who gets drunk and sets things on fire or decides to move to Amsterdam to sell vacuum cleaners or something. Will is that. He hasn’t done any of that, to be fair. Although it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine him doing either. He’s fascinating, brilliant, charming, and weird as balls.
So one morning he and my best friend show up at my house. After sitting around for a few minutes, I decided to be a good friend and offer them food, despite the fact that my refrigerator is largely stocked with things you put on other things. Without the benefit of the things you put on them. We have whipped cream with no cake, ketchup with no hamburgers, caramel sauce with no ice cream. Which causes a problem when my hostess instincts set in.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask, hopping up from my chair in a flurry of fifties housewife. “We have... a lot of condiments.”
Best friend giggles. Will giggles.
“What?” It’s never good when they’re giggling.
“Go get it,” my best friend says. Will scrambles out of the chair and leaves the kitchen. I asked my best friend what was going on a few times, but, as usual, I got no real answer. And then Will shows back up in the kitchen with a suitcase, which he opens in the middle of the floor.
Condoms. Infinite condoms. Single packs of Trojan Ultra-Thin condoms spilling all over my kitchen.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“One thousand condoms!” Will exclaimed.
“Why do you have one thousand condoms in a suitcase?”
“They won’t fit in anything else!”
“Right. But why do you have them?”
Apparently, Will signed up to be a distributor for Trojan, handing out free samples to college students. Like a condom angel. A strange condom angel. But he failed in his condom angel duties by keeping all of the condoms, and, somehow, Trojan never checked up on him. So now he had huge quantities of condoms hanging out in his car. So he spread the wealth.
But it’s hard to tell if a suitcase full of ultra-thin condoms kept in the back of a car in the middle of summer are structurally sound. And that’s hardly something a bunch of college kids want to take chances on. So we devised a test.
Let me tell you, it is not until one has been chased around one’s dining room by a tiny woman brandishing an inflated condom with a smiley face on it that one has truly lived. And I, my friends, have truly lived.
