Discretion

I had a guest over at my apartment. I'm leaving this purposefully vague so they can show their face in polite society. This person had acquired, unbeknownst to me, the nickname Two-Flush. They came out of my bathroom and laughed, "Where's your plunger?"

Up until today, I had been living plunger-free.

I jumped in my car and headed over to the Target. I wandered around the store, unwilling to ask where they hid their plungers. I found them pretty quickly, so that wasn't an issue. I picked a mid-range model. It had a stand around the base. I thought that would be a good idea... for sanitary purposes. Talking about plungers makes me slightly uncomfortable.

I head over to the express checkout. A very friendly older man puts down a divider after his items and lets me know I can put my stuff on the conveyor belt.

"Watcha got there?" he is a very friendly guy... joy. I can see how he can't tell what it is. The stand covers the entire plunger and it has an ergonomic handle.

"A plunger," I answer in my traditional manner.

"Oh. It looks like it has it's own little carrying case," his observation is jovial.

"It's very discreet."

I busy myself pretending to be engrossed in women's magazines, hoping he doesn't want to discuss plungers further.