The Mystery of the Not My Condoms

Friday night I was searching for something high and low throughout my house, and my search took me to my nightstand drawer. While I have no desire to tell you all about the contents of that drawer, just trust that should my parents ever get curious and open it, they will immediately shut it and try to forget what they saw. While rummaging through the various things that would make Baby Jesus cry, I came across a stray condom...a plain old garden variety lubricated Trojan.

This was a curious discovery, since I am allergic to latex and therefore have not purchased or had latex condoms in my vicinity in at least a decade. (I will spare you the details on this too, except to say that once you've experienced a latex allergy in a delicate and highly sensitive place, you become more than a little wary. The first thing I tell every doctor is to make sure their gloves are not latex.) I knew right away it wasn't my condom, since I have a few of the polyurethane ones in the drawer and even those may have long since passed their expiration dates. So what the hell was this thing doing in my drawer?

The choices, none of which are particularly fun for me to contemplate, appear to be that a friend left it there as a joke during one of the parties I've had in the past few years, one of my friends with a key to my house left it there while cat-sitting (hopefully as a joke and not because it was leftover from some sort of sexual act that occurred in my bed because I WILL KILL WHOEVER DID THAT), my cleaning lady left it there (see aforementioned parenthetical), or some other option that I can't wrap my brain around right now. And before anyone suggests that my still-getting-frisky-over-sixty parents left it there, just don't. My mom got her tubes tied almost 20 years ago.

Regardless of how it ended up there, I am now completely bewildered and ooged out. And considering buying a new mattress and sheets and possibly burning my bed frame.