There should be a special store that sells only embarrassing items (no, not the kind that you hide in your suitcase and get embarrassed about when the security agent pulls it out and questions you about its use). I’m talking about those things that deal with the biological necessities that you don’t really want anyone to know about.

Have you ever walked into a store to buy one item, say something for flatulence, toilet paper or . . . worse . . . something for your wife that you would never use.

There should be a special lane in the store that is completely enclosed, totally dark that hides your voice and face. That way no one will ever know.

These items range from Preparation H to toilet paper to feminine hygiene products to Nair for Men (yep, it exists).

Why must we confront the bitter, stupid teen behind the counter with our most embarrassing items? If we need Imodium, odds are we REALLY need it at the moment and the last face we want to see is one with a tongue stud who chuckles at you as he rings up your item.

Don’t worry pal, your day will come.

I thought of this recently for some reason. I was taken back to my days in college when a friend of mine was having a little problem with, uh, itching. So we went to the local grocery store to pick up a remedy. We specifically waited until 1 a.m. to ensure the fewest people around. We figured that, if anyone were shopping at 1 a.m. they’d have far bigger problems than his. We found the section of the store and he started browsing. He started reading the back of one of the items when, who should show up but perhaps the two most beautiful women awake at that time of day.

These weren’t just good looking women. They had fallen off the pages of a magazine. Perfectly put together, as if Nature was trying to top herself.

It really didn’t matter if he had a hygiene product in his hand. He could have been holding a stack of one hundred dollar bills. These girls never would have paid attention to us. But, when he’s holding up an unmistakable box that essentially takes him out of the realm of potential mate and they glance over, I had to laugh. Naturally, as soon as they walked in I scooted down the aisle to the vitamins. But I laughed. They couldn’t see me. All they saw was my friend, holding one of the most embarrassing items in the store, looking as though he were a deer facing down a Mack truck. All the color left his face, as he stood there frozen, the girls staring at him wondering where this hysterical laughter was coming from.

I laughed so hard that I was doubled over on the floor, as if I were having a seizure. And I couldn’t stop. I was gasping for air.

My friend ducked out of site and the girls disappeared. He came over and started kicking me, “Get up you ass! As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough!” It was too late though. He could have shaved my head and I wouldn’t have been able to stop laughing.

We waited enough time to make sure the girls were out of the store to check out. With his product in hand, we went to the late-night checker who clearly could care less what we were buying. She just didn’t care. Who walks in behind us? The girls. I lost composure again.

At least they didn’t have to do a price check.

My point is if there were a special store, he wouldn’t have had this issue. No questions asked. No one would ever know what his discomfort was, they wouldn’t care. Of course, only cash would be an option. Otherwise the clerk would know who he was and his credit card company would know what he was doing and why.

I’m not immune to this, of course. I’m married and, periodically, I have to go pick up things for my wife. Things that I would never use. COULD never use. Everyone who sees me carrying them should know that I’m there out of my undying love for my mate. Yet, as soon as I check out I start making excuses.

“Uh. My dogs drool a lot so we put these under their chins. That’s why they have wings and stuff. Because it’s really hard to get a St. Bernard to wear this because they are big and stuff and I have to sedate them. Can I have a Playboy too? Yeah, thanks. You know, I am manly. Really manly. I look at naked chicks all the time because I’m really manly and stuff. You have a good night Sven! We should hang some time and go to a strip club or something!”

Then I punch him and run away, my masculinity secure.