I’m scared of needles but wanted a flu shot, so I took my husband Bob with me for support. That was a mistake.

We always go to CVS where the line for flu shots is in the men’s contraceptives aisle. Since they’re protective medical products, they’re not risqué. Right? Then why are the names so non-innuendo? Trojan, Magnum, Supra. I ask you, “Do all men really need to prove their magnitude?” Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.

While waiting in that aisle, Bob tried to distract me from thinking about the needle. He read, loudly, the racy descriptions. He knows I’m like a 10-year-old when it comes to anything involving s.e.x. 

In front of us were about 15 older women. I wanted to stretch one of those prophylactic products around Bob’s throat to quiet him. Meanwhile, all the ladies were laughing but me.

Unfortunately our pal Ron showed up. Like Bob, he’s in his fifties. Ron joined Bob’s so-called fun. He picked up some gel and read aloud the word “tingling” with deafening emphasis. I warned him, “Keep this up and I’m going to write a column about it.” That didn’t stop him; it egged him on.

Bob and Ron acted like two monkeys getting their first banana. (Sorry again - what other example is there with monkeys?) They made goofy yelping sounds while reading sordid words. Bob read, “hundreds of raised studs.” I ignored him. He nearly shouted, “Can’t you hear? I said HUNDREDS of - .” I found a wad of tissue and stuffed it in his mouth.

Did you know they come in “assorted colors and luscious flavors” like mint, orange and strawberry? I do now. And so does everybody at CVS.

Bob discovered some with electric vibrating rings. He stopped talking and started reading, then exclaimed, “Batteries are included!”

“Bob, I’ll kill you if you talk about this one.” Am I nuts? (I heard that.) So we were all treated to the detailed description. The ladies stopped laughing and looked behind him to see if there were more in stock. When I grabbed the box to put it back, I noticed, “Avoid contact with eyes.” Maybe it’s my non new-age ways, but – how on earth would a one of these vibrating rings wind up in someone’s eye?

They all have warnings about calling your doctor if anything goes wrong. I can just imagine that conversation.

“Doctor?” I’d say. “My ring is stuck.”

“Dishwashing liquid will make it slip off.”

“Not that kind of ring.”

“What other kind is there?”

“Um – it’s in my, um, my, um - what women have that men don’t.”

“A nipple ring. Men wear them too. I don’t recommend them. Since you can’t unclasp it, ask Bob to very carefully use bolt cutters.”

“Up there!?”

I’d realize how illogical that sounded so I’d say, “The ring is, uh, where babies come from.”

“In your uterus?”

“Well, no.” I’d clear my throat for the hundredth time. “You see, we were doing, uh, what married people do, and –”

“You were having intercourse and inserted a ring?”

“Um  . . .  uh huh.”

Then he’d tell me to meet him at the hospital, where there would be 25 medical students eagerly awaiting their first ER rounds.

By the end of my imaginative scenario, it was time for my shot. The nurse noticed one question I missed on my form. “Are you allergic to latex?” That did it. I went into such full-body hysterics that I couldn’t keep my arm from shaking. I shook my head no, while Bob and Ron kept perfectly straight faces.

I was asked to leave if I could not control myself from sitting there giggling.

I left.

I’m going to drive to another state to get this year’s shot.