Just musing, after carrying a huge, bright red box labeled “Trojan Condoms” to the recycle bin …

At what age does taking that now-empty case of, uh, amorous accessories — become more of a laugh-out-loud moment than a potential point of pride?

I’m not sure, but I know I definitely am on the high side of whatever age (30? 35?) it turns from provocative to comedic.

I mean, really, Costco ought to be more discreet about what boxes it uses to wedge my pears and bottled water into.

Other “family-size” boxes I’m not looking forward to taking to the recycle bin as I become more decrepit:

“Depends.” Yeah, the adult diapers. I may have to hire a kid to take that one to the trash. No more than once a month, I hope.

“Metamucil.” May as well just hang a sign on the front door saying, “Yeah, I’ve been a little constipated … since about 1990. Actually, what people used to say I was ‘full of’ … well, I am … unless I ingest weapons-grade quantities of this stuff.”

“California Prunes.” See above.

“Dentucream.” Yep, my teeth are as fake as the “and good morning to you, too” I dispense, in the elevator to you whippersnappers.

“Zig Zag” rolling papers. Who said you can’t get faded every day of the year … when you’re old enough for Social Security? What? It looks ridiculous? Well of course it does.

“Charles Shaw” wine (aka, Two-Buck Chuck). At least I’m a cheap drunk. If your bunions ached like mine, you’d buy your Napa turpentine for $25 a case, too.

“Viagra.” This one is kind of like the “Trojans” conundrum. Perhaps self-flattering, at a certain age … and then vaguely pathetic past another. Just later ages. I mean, using industrial levels of the stuff? Maybe OK at 50 but “who do you think you are, Hugh Hefner?” at 75.

“Rogaine.” At some point, you need to concede you have no hair. (Like, when you go to the barber about once a year.) If you’re taking out labeled-cartons of the stuff …  and you’ve got a 50-strand comb-over going on … that “full head” ain’t coming back.

“Bauer and Black” support hose. Yes, I’m about to throw a clot. Want to do something about it, punk? Want to dance? Oh, yeah, I can’t do that.

Anything with “truss” on it. Unless you’re an civil engineer.

“Kellogg’s All-Bran.” Yeah, not just mostly bran. All bran, all the time. Didn’t the empty crates of Metamucil tip you off?