I warn you that today’s post is absolutely awful and disgusting and TMI. However, if you’re a woman, I’m sure some version of this has happened to you too. And if you’re a man in a relationship with a woman, you can bet your bottom dollar that this crap happens to us, and we are too fucking ladylike to tell you.
You ladies know that around that time of the month, we usually arm ourselves with the necessary equipment for when our period happens. You carry extra tampons. You might wear a pantyliner. Mine is like clockwork, so I’m always prepared.
Except for yesterday.
I had a few minutes between meetings and decided to run to Starbucks for a coffee. While standing in line and fantasizing about which frothy goodness to purchase, I suddenly feel IT.
I thought maybe I was just sweating. Yeah, that’s it. Just sweating from my crotch only. It had to be. I wasn’t prepared for my period. It was too soon! And I had nothing. No tampons, no pantyliner, and I’m wearing a thong with an almost sheer pink skirt.
I pray to baby Jesus that it’s just lots of crotch sweat as I grab my coffee and race back to the office. In the elevator up to my floor, I spin my skirt around to make sure no stains have occurred (you’re welcome for that entertainment, security guard monitoring the elevator cameras). Whew, nothing. Maybe it was just crotch sweat.
I run into the bathroom, now late for my meeting. Fuck. Not crotch sweat. My thong is soaked, so I have to throw it out. But I’m wearing a damn SKIRT. There aren’t pants to stuff toilet paper into. So, I grab a wad of toilet paper and stick it up my vajajay and clench my muscles with all the strength those kegel exercises provided, praying that it doesn’t fall out while I walk.
Since I’m late, I go straight into my boss’ office for the meeting. All I can think of the entire time is that I’m going to stain my skirt (or worse, the chair!) or when I get up, the toilet paper is going to fall onto the floor. Oh! The shame! I start making promises to God that if I get out of the meeting without embarrassing myself, I’ll start feeding the homeless or building them houses. With my own hands! I’ll build their dogs houses too. I’ll start an entire homeless dog housebuilding foundation. I’ll apply for the tax-exempt status as soon as the meeting is over. I promise!
The moment that the meeting is over, I clench again and waddle out of his office immediately into my own where I scrounge up a tampon from 1995 in the bottom of purse.
I run over to my colleague, explaining the situation, and beg her to come with me to find underwear in a part of town with no stores that would carry it. She then has a brilliant idea. Let’s go to the Rite Aid and see if they have some with the hosiery and socks. They’re bound to have some Hanes briefs!
Feeling triumphant with this idea, we march right back to the hosiery wall and see NADA. Nothing. We immediately go to different sides of the store to make sure there’s not a random pack of tighty whities hanging somewhere, when she beckons me over to this:
What the fudgiscle?! “You’re kidding me right?” She gives me a look that says, “You really don’t have many options right now.” And I beg her to try the other convenience store around the corner.
I start to seriously consider the low cut Depends when we decide to try the random Rue21 in the middle of the city. I’ve never seen one outside of a mall before, but it did save me the day I spilled sushi all over my shirt at work, so I remain grateful for its randomness.
We walked in, and I held my breath before seeing piles of underwear. Yay! I’m pretty sure that I could hear the choir of angels singing and a beam of light shining on them.
While my options did consist of this:
I finally found a semi-adult looking pair. After thanking my friend for taking this journey with me, we decided to celebrate over lunch where I snuck away to the bathroom to change into my $2.99 underwear.
I’ve never been so grateful for underwear before.
P.S. If you’re interested in contributing to my Homeless Dog Housebuilding Foundation, contact our president, Mr. Maximilian Beauregard.