The six pack

Disposable Pull-Up pants are not just for big boy toddlers refusing to relinquish parental enslavement. They are not just for ancient unshaven Grampy stiffly propped up in the corner of your velveteen couch. They are also for the toiletless traveler refusing to take the chance of being seen with their pants down while seeking relief on the shoulder of the New Jersey Turnpike.

Conveniently interspersed every few exits, yes, there are so called comfort stations and I can see why some genius decided to call a place where one takes a dump a comfort station, since it is especially comfort-able to release the beast and drain the vein but I do wonder, when the term comfort station was first coined, couldn't there have been an innocent roadie or two walking in to one of those non descript cinder block buildings flummoxed at the sight of nothing but latrines and sinks while expecting a hug and a chicken pot pie? So why, one might ask, would any respectable person take on the odds of exposing their hiney, or worse yet, the flip side to an innocent traveling nun, in conjunction with the potential of being charged with indecent exposure by the potty police, when just off road indoors, there is privacy; comfort to be had?

I place the blame squarely on the sinister spiky spherical ever flitting Coronavirus particles. Even masked, those nasty tiny boogers are just itching to climb into either one of your nostrils, I know it and you know it, which is why when I knew I had to make a four plus hour trip I thought, but what about a bathroom break? And then I instantly thought, as if I googled it, "Why not?" Who but me will know what's under my shorts? Besides the handsome lady on the TV commercial does an awfully sexy spin lifting up her skirt and portrays a facial expression of deep contentment wearing them, so why wouldn't I dash off to Walmart for a pack of Depends?

I surmised the adult diapers would be located in the feminine hygiene aisle, and I was correct. As soon as my eyes locked in on the neon blue plastic six pack marked Depends, I happened to notice a nosey lurking cart inspector. You know the type. The person who sets their alarm at 5:30 a.m., not to go to work, but to walk the streets dragging their sleepy dog behind them as a decoy with the express purpose of slyly peeking into your recycle bin, counting the number of empty beer bottles. Who are they? The AA police? So I waited until she moved on but I wasn't taking any chances. Even though I didn't need any pads or plugs, I grabbed a few packages to conceal the necessary contraband from view. And there she was, as expected, still lurking just around the bend as I made my way to the self check-out registers pretending not to look into my cart. So just to let her know two could play, I made sure to stare just a little too long into her cart, finishing our encounter with a "what's up" to her with my chin, exemplifying "How do you like it? Take that!"

Go figure, as luck would not have it, the bar code didn't work. Feeling for a second like drop kicking the unmentionable under the register, before I could make my next move Slick Willy with the "how can I help you" button prominently pinned to his chest is on me like white on rice. Never making eye contact, he took care of my problem so fast, when he whipped the package into the plastic shopping bag, for a second I wasn't sure if he had decided to drop kick the package under the register for me as a kind gesture.

After making it home, I looked in my bathroom mirror noticing the red blotches on my neck had subsided when I decided it might be in my best interest to test drive my purchase right then and there, since it would not be cool to experience the results of failure whilst crossing the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, coming out on the other side sitting in a yellow puddle on top of my fabric upholstery. No need for any further details, let's just wrap this up by taking my word for it that the product works, calling this disclosure a one time anonymous review of the product.

Five Star.

And thankfully, afterall, like a big boy, I was dry when I arrived at my destination, so other than my happy ending, there is no point to this story, but that doesn't make the unused product any less useful.