It's my birthday (cue music). The big 5-7 (wonder if Heinz will hook me up with something). And you know what's on my mind?
Leakage.
I thought I was done. Through. Over it. I finally got around to pitching all accouterments of "the monthlies."
Aunt Flo has pitched me to the curb. Left me to drown in a pool of my own hot flash sweat. But I was done with the "red sea moments." Through with pads & plugs. Over it.
As I gathered all that stuff I thought about not ever needing it again and who I give my wisdom to during the intergenerational rites of passage ceremony.
Then it hit me.
I've been using a lot of liners and the hot flashes back with a vengeance and increased frequency. Those effing commercials..."bladder leakage associated with MENOPAUSE." Such unfathomable depths of cruelty!
This is an even more tenuous predicament because I'm running low on clean panties.
Fortunately, frugalista that I am, I'd amassed enough free samples to equate to a new pack. The Crone version of kotex/always? So maybe I'm not done with the pads but plugs, begone!
A realization. I lived (no, make that) was part of a revolution in feminine hygiene. Seriously.
Back in the late sixties (alongside the sexual revolution) someone discovered or invented disposable pads. Let that sink in.
DISPOSABLE.
DISPOSE.
Now image what life was like... before.
When it was my turn to attend the special school assembly with all of the other fifth and sixth grade girls the facilitator, in the front of classroom not built to accommodate all of us at one time, showed us a belt She said it was a sanitary belt. It looked like a check generic g-string.
The belt had clasps like the ones on garter belts or girdles but instead of holding up shiny sheer nylon stockings, it held up either end of a sanitary napkin, doomed be suspended between the thighs. A paper napkin. Up high.
Did I mention it's made of paper and paper byproduct? And it was alleged to be absorbent enough to eliminate even the possibility of public humiliation? That's why we wore dark colors during that time of the month.
This helps me stay mindful because, in this situation, it could be worse. Grossly worse.
I thought I was done. Through. Over it. I finally got around to pitching all accouterments of "the monthlies."
Aunt Flo has pitched me to the curb. Left me to drown in a pool of my own hot flash sweat. But I was done with the "red sea moments." Through with pads & plugs. Over it.
As I gathered all that stuff I thought about not ever needing it again and who I give my wisdom to during the intergenerational rites of passage ceremony.
Then it hit me.
I've been using a lot of liners and the hot flashes back with a vengeance and increased frequency. Those effing commercials..."bladder leakage associated with MENOPAUSE." Such unfathomable depths of cruelty!
This is an even more tenuous predicament because I'm running low on clean panties.
Fortunately, frugalista that I am, I'd amassed enough free samples to equate to a new pack. The Crone version of kotex/always? So maybe I'm not done with the pads but plugs, begone!
A realization. I lived (no, make that) was part of a revolution in feminine hygiene. Seriously.
Back in the late sixties (alongside the sexual revolution) someone discovered or invented disposable pads. Let that sink in.
DISPOSABLE.
DISPOSE.
Now image what life was like... before.
When it was my turn to attend the special school assembly with all of the other fifth and sixth grade girls the facilitator, in the front of classroom not built to accommodate all of us at one time, showed us a belt She said it was a sanitary belt. It looked like a check generic g-string.
The belt had clasps like the ones on garter belts or girdles but instead of holding up shiny sheer nylon stockings, it held up either end of a sanitary napkin, doomed be suspended between the thighs. A paper napkin. Up high.
Did I mention it's made of paper and paper byproduct? And it was alleged to be absorbent enough to eliminate even the possibility of public humiliation? That's why we wore dark colors during that time of the month.
This helps me stay mindful because, in this situation, it could be worse. Grossly worse.
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