Eulogy for a Condom

I found this expired condom in the pocket of a jacket I haven't worn in, like, two years. It made me kind of sad, and I decided it needed a little memorial. So I laid it on some clean white tissues, opened a bottle of Sam Adams Cherry Wheat, and drank to all the condoms that never get used and all the missed opportunities they represent.

Here's to the nights spent alone in bed; to the lube not spilled on clean sheets; to the one night stands and first encounters that never happened. Here's to the nights when you go home early, lips still throbbing from a stranger's over-eager kisses. Here's to waking up alone and not regretting it.

Here's to the condoms, our little protectors. To the Trojans, the Lifestyles, the Kimonos, the Crowns. Here's to latex and lambskin. Here's to the ones that came between us and disease, the ones that saved us. And here's to the ones that never had a chance.