What happens when you're economically challenged enough to qualify for annual Pap's at your local Department of Health and Human Services? You walk away with a bag full of condoms and a box of Plan B, that's what.
Before ya'll get all slack-jawed, realize that to maintain their state funding, DHHR is required to lecture their clients about "family planning" and non-negotiably send home anti-baby parting gifts containing every contraceptive known to (wo)man. However, walking out with my brown bag o' shame, the following scenarios raced through my head as I thought about getting caught with said contraceptives:
1.) A routine traffic stop and my bag falling to the floor, content spilling out as I searched for my license and registration. "Ahhh, officer, those are from a doctors appointment. Yes, even the banana flavored ones."
2. ) An accident where the contents of my bag o' shame are shot out the windows and the first responders are deacons from my church...
"Ah, Mike. We found these here rubbers near the scene of the accident. Looks like she might in trouble with the law by not yielding at that stop sign. On top of that she's a tramp too, godblessher."
3. ) Or my dad getting my "family planning" goody bag confused with his brown bag lunch. He reaches in for a sandwich and comes out with a neon Love Glove. Bad day for bare bonsey. Bad day indeed.