To please his cautious girlfriend, the college boy in the pharmacy is buying condoms for the first time. The prophylactics are behind the counter, and he must ask the female apothecary for them. When the teenager finally gets up the nerve, the pharmacist responds with, “Three, six, or twelve?”
Panic floods the young man. Do they come in sizes like shoes? How will he find the right size? Who does the measuring? This woman? Sweat appears on his forehead. The matronly chemist familiar with the stupidity of horny adolescent males ends the awkward silence and hands him a box of twelve.