I was sitting in an Eckerd, waiting for a prescription. I had a rash spreading from my wrists to my shoulders, and was waiting for special prescription crème to come to my rescue before the rash decided to spread to other parts of my body that are socially unacceptable to scratch. Speaking of scratching, I was undertaking a great triumph of will in my attempt not to dig my fingers into my flesh and rend it from my bones, throwing gobs of inflamed tissue at the bored pharmacy cashier - just because she didn't know or care about the hell I was in. I contemplated testing my blood pressure, just to pass the time, but realized that it was probably already too high because of the stress I was in, and if I found out it was high, it would only go higher. I let my eyes wander from the hated cashier to rest on the product aisle facing me. Then I realized what I was looking at. It was the distinctly Female Problems and Sex aisle. The aisle directly faced the prescription waiting area, and I had a clear view of every product on the shelves. Pregnancy tests, yeast infection treatments, vaginal itching cream (that's relief of, not cause of), vaginal dryness jelly/cream/liquid (again with the relief), vaginal thermometers. And then the large and impressive display of condoms to the right of the vagina display. Just OUT there. It's embarrassing enough to have to buy these products, but placing the aisle in the perfect place for the enjoyment of the waiting area is just cruel. One doesn't want to be on stage when you're buying this. You don't walk up to a stranger in a store and casually discuss your vaginal dryness, but shopping in front of the entire prescription waiting area is pretty much advertising the fact. I suddenly felt embarrassed just sitting there, thinking about people shopping in that section. I hoped that no one would parade her yeast infection in front of me while I was waiting there. Then it occurred to me: shopping in the pharmacy always advertises your problems. It was the placement of the aisles that determined the strength of the advertisement. So why deny it and act all embarrassed? Why buy unnecessary Twizzlers, sun block and condoms, pretending that the condoms just "fell in to the basket" and you might as well buy them to avoid causing anyone the trouble of restocking? Everyone already knows you're having sex/having a dry vagina day/fearing you might be pregnant. You might as well be loud and proud! "My vagina itches!" I'll yell, the next time I'm there for Vagisil. And the woman next to me will say, "Your vagina itches? You should see the yeast infection I've got!" as she dumps Monistat into her cart. "My girlfriend's vagina is dry during sex," a conversational guy will add, getting a tube of KY jelly and a box of condoms. A harried woman will look at him and say, "Don't get those condoms - those are the reason I'm testing myself for pregnancy," as she gets the (cheaper) Eckerd Brand pregnancy tests. Because it's one of the most obvious aisles, we'll be the loudest, but if you walk around the store, you'll hear, "my hair is too gray, I need to color it," and "these hemorrhoids are killing me!" and "Damn my girlfriend for making me shop for her tampons - I wonder what 'heavy' means - she's not very fat..." from the inner shelves. Little voices in the middle of the inner aisles ("I lose control of my bladder when I laugh") become louder when they're on an end-aisle display ("My wart problem is really bad"). Some of the voices are unexpected: "I forgot my girlfriend's birthday and need something fast!" from a guy who is looking at the bizarre why-are-cookout-and-picnic-paraphernalia-and-cheap-toys-sold-here display. Nearer to the register, you can hear, "I am terribly gullible and believe that Prince Charles really killed Diana out of jealousy for the love of Michael Jackson, and beans can cure cancer, and Jesus was seen working at a McDonald's in Santa Fe, time for a pilgrimage!" And then, whether they began loud or soft, they all rise to a screeching bellow as we reach checkout. Pregnancy fears, period flow, premature gray, hemorrhoids, ribbed for her pleasure, and incontinence woes are all advertised in neon lighting to the minimum-wage earner behind the counter, who tries not to laugh, tries not to peer into our faces to try to figure out what kind of person has vaginal dryness, tries not to check our fingers for wedding rings to see if we've been BAD or if it's OK that we're buying a pregnancy test, tries to be professional as she bags our items. And even as we leave the store, the voices do not stop, because the bags are translucent. If someone looks at us, they can still hear, "I wet my pants fairly often," coming from the bag. You can't win in the pharmacy.