Durex

The car dashboard was a battlefield. Crayon war paint adorned the once pristine leather, a chaotic masterpiece chronicling little Timmy's artistic journey. Amongst the vibrant squiggles, a single image stood out: a bold, phallic symbol that would make even Freud blush.

John, a weary office worker, sighed. This was the third time this month Timmy had decorated the car with his "artistic interpretations." He wasn't sure what was worse, the permanent markers or the message they conveyed. Apparently, basic biology wasn't included in kindergarten finger painting class.

"Honey," John called out to his wife, Sarah, who was wrestling with a particularly stubborn grocery bag in the kitchen. "Did you remember to...?"

"Don't even ask," Sarah sighed, emerging from the kitchen with a box that looked like it could feed a small army. "Dumex again. Triple the price of regular formula, but hey, at least it comes with a free trip to the pediatrician every other week!"

John winced. Their second child, Lily, was a champion spitter-upper. Dumex, the supposed "gentle on tummies" brand, was more like a financial drain. He glanced back at the offending drawing on the dashboard. Maybe Timmy was onto something.

An idea sparked in John's mind. The next day, on his lunch break, he made a detour. He wasn't going to the pharmacy for Dumex this time. Instead, he found himself in a brightly lit aisle lined with colorful packages. This wasn't the baby food section; it was the family planning section.

John, feeling a little like a teenager buying his first pack of cigarettes, grabbed a box of Durex. "Hey," he reasoned with himself, "better safe than sorry. Besides, this is way cheaper than another round of Dumex and pediatrician visits."

Back home, Sarah raised an eyebrow at the Durex box on the counter. John sheepishly explained his logic. To his surprise, Sarah burst out laughing. "You know what," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "you might be onto something here. Maybe we should have gotten a family planning discount when we bought the crib."

John grinned. Maybe Timmy's artistic expression wasn't a curse after all, but a not-so-subtle message from the financial abyss. And hey, at least the car wouldn't need another "power washing" anytime soon.