This morning, at Duane Reade, I saw the second bravest man in the world. He came up to the counter, set down two soft-packs of “protective briefs”, and just stood there waiting to to be rung up. He didn’t pad his purchase with filler items to divert attention, as I would. I admired his bravery, because I can’t even buy toilet paper without wanting to throw in a pack of emery boards, three rolls of Sweet Tarts, and enough greeting cards to send to everyone I know for every occasion on earth for the rest of their lives (and I know some people who are going to live until 2615, so that’s a lotta cards, believe you me).
He just stood there, not even saying, “Yeah, Mama don’t get outta the house no more, so I gotsta do her shoppin’,” the way I would. He also didn’t pull down his pants to show me and the rest of the Duane Reade population that the underwear wasn’t for him, that, LOOK, I’m wearin’ regular underwear that doesn’t have to form a protective barrier. Contrast this to me when I bought Ex-Lax for an acting school exercise (it was a prop, all right?) and broadcast through my pocket-size mini-megaphone, “Oh no no no. It’s not for me! I’m a regular girl!” And then nudged the guy behind me and said, “Regular. Get it? Regular???”
Hats off to you, second bravest guy! You can hold your own!
P.S.  This is the bravest.