Among the unusual curiousities I had while growing up was what exactly a condom was. Every weekend we would stop at the same restaurant on our way out of town, and every weekend I would go to the washroom and see the condom dispenser on the wall. I wondered what they looked like, what they felt like; I barely even knew what they were for. But then there was a day when I was just curious enough to put a dollar in.

There was another family that went to the same restaurant every Friday. They had a son a few years older than me, and just after the machine dispensed the little wrapper to me, he walked in. Of course he knew what was going on! He knew I was some twisted sexual deviant and he was going to tell my parents what a pervert I was! Oh, it was too embarrassing, what could I do!

He never said anything to me. He probably didn’t even care. I was just some silly little kid, and he’d probably even done the same thing once. But probably not what I did next.

I opened the wrapper, took the condom out, and filled it with water. Tying it off like a balloon, and being watched by him the entire time, I went to a toilet and flushed it down. I laughed. Yes, like some kind of vandal, some evil mastermind. Definitely not whatever he was thinking. That is, if he even cared.