Last week I broke down and bought a tube of hemorrhoid cooling gel at the downtown Rite Aid. I was particularly apprehensive about buying such an embarrassing product at that location since I buy beer there often enough that the checkers probably recognize me, but I bravely stood in line cradling the yellow box, trying to hide the label from the teenage girls milling around, and I was relieved to get the Indian guy as my checker. He might whisper to the female checkers that I have hemorrhoids the next time he sees me shopping there, but at least he never tries to talk to me. I thought about saying it was for my grandma as I set the box on the counter in front of him, but instead I paid in silence, and he gave me only a brief mischievous glance as he put the thing in a little plastic bag, which I stuffed in my backpack on my way out. When I got home I felt weird about having a tube with the word “hemorrhoid” written all over it laying around the bathroom, so I took a sharpie and censored the hell out of the thing with thick black lines. Now the tube says “---------- Cooling Gel” and “Temporary Relief From ------------ Discomfort” and “aids in protecting irritated ------ areas.”

I overcompensated for my embarrassment by showing Kim what I had done, and she immediately yelled to Devo in his bedroom, “AnDrew’s censoring his hemorrhoid cream!” and she had a good laugh at my expense.

Anyway, I’m glad I bought it.