It has not been uncommon, in the past few weeks, for either Willem or I to refer to a friend of his from college while in bed. Bob, to be precise, who is a brand-new blogger and ain't he cute? And, yes, I mean his name comes up in bed, and not while wearing the Sweatpants of Disinterest.

But, alas, we're not doing a role-playing kinky sort of thing, at least not where Bob is concerned. (You know, it's sentences like that, that make me remember that I don't know whether my mother reads this blog.) It's instead a reference to the fact that until I've been on the patch for a month (having gotten my Alien Communication Device IUD removed a few weeks ago) we're relying on a backup method because a baby in August is just not on the agenda.

And, along those lines, did you know that Ramses the Great is believed to have fathered almost 100 children? If Wikipedia says so, it must be true. Just a slightly ironic eponym for a condom company, no?

Anyway, Bob. And condoms. It all goes back to fall 1996, when I was still technically officially ring-on-the-finger still engaged to Someone Else but was testing the waters of Willem, so to speak. We hadn't Done the Deed, but ... well, put it this way: if I ever came home to find Willem testing waters in quite that way with anyone else now, I'd have to stop blogging, at least until I got out of prison.

So, one night, on what became the last night I was part of an official couple with Someone Else (though we did sort of drift together again several years later... but that's a whole other story and Bob had nothing to do with it), Willem and I were spending some quality time on his couch, and it started to seem like the Deed was, in fact, going to be Done. I insisted that he suit up. He was unprepared, not having been a Boy Scout. So he stands up, assures me, "I'm just going to go to Bob's room, he always has some. I'll be right back."

So I waited.

And waited.

And sat up and fixed my clothes and brushed my hair and turned on the TV and waited.

And waited some more.

Fifteen minutes later, after having apparently opened every single door in the entire fraternity house, Willem returned, a bit out of breath but waving the sought-after box triumphantly. "I found them, finally! Timmy had some."

"That's great, Willem, but you gave me long enough for my brain to start working again. I need to end things with Someone Else before I start things with you."

My memory has faded at this point, and I honestly can't remember if Willem just sort of shrugged and walked me home, or wailed and gnashed his teeth and begged, or simply burst into flames. I got in my little red truck, drove directly to Someone Else's house, and woke him up to break up with him and return the ring. I didn't immediately drive back to Willem's, but instead returned, alone and pent-up, to my own room and slept for the next three or four days, maybe a little less.

So now, whenever the topic of condoms or just taking way too long to find a simple-yet-crucial item, one of us will invariably say, "I'm just going to go to Bob's room."

Glad that Bob can share these moments with us, even if only in spirit.