You hesitate, with the itch nearly driving you out of your mind, and thought of the misery you would experience waiting until Mr. Roberts returns. So, with a blush you mumble: that you don't want help, but mention that you have got sort of a rash on your penis.
Victoria accepts this declaration without batting an eye: "I see. What sort of rash? Is it like a fungal infection, or an abrasion?"
You admit that it's more like an abrasion.
With a reassuring nod, Victoria says: "Oh, I understand. We've got just the thing for that." She reaches behind the counter. "Here you are. We sell it to lots of men." She hands you a round jar, with a picture of a matronly nurse smiling gently in comfort.