I keep trying to think of an intro that eases you into this story. Some gentle Family Circus humor before I get all gross. But…I got nothing. Subtlety is not really my forte in writing. So here goes nothing… an Honest -To-God True Story about why sometimes it sucks to be a woman.
Having a period in an office environment can be a bit challenging. Every 30 days, I get a visit from Aunt Flo that’s not so much fun for about 48 hours, and I need to quietly excuse myself every 3 hours or so to stop the epic dam that’s about to burst and bleed out in front of my co-workers. Gross. I told you, but hey babies don’t come from storks, magic pixie dust and fairy wings. It’s nature people.
No matter our age, women have to figure out a way in public to get hygiene products into a bathroom for a quick spruce up and to stop the dam from breaking. In high school, that meant suddenly carrying your purse to the bathroom for one week a month. In college, you had to plan for long class days and pack your bag accordingly, and not get stuck in a 3-hour class and feel gravity take over halfway through. Eww I know, but hey ladies, you all know what I’m sayin…you’ve all been there, and it sucks.
So then you get to be an adult with a job with a nice clean bathroom and more leniency on when you can get up and pee. (Unless, you work in a call center like I did once for 8 tortuous months, then it’s like breaking out of prison to go to the bathroom.) If you carry your purse, everyone wonders where the hell you’re going, and in my office, they ask. So instead of coming up with a lie every four hours, “Uh, I just have to get something out of my car,” which some in my office would totally keep track of, and soon I’d be hearing, “You know, you go down to your car a lot, maybe you should plan ahead and bring it all up at once.” Thanks. I’d never thought of that.
See, our bathrooms are not in our suite. They are at the end of a LONG hallway and shared with other offices on our floor, which is awesome for total anonymity when you need to go drop a bomb after some KILLER Lebanese food or you know you will be making some sweet noise after a round of refried bean Mexican dip. This is not so great when you have to RUN to them after some really good milkshakes, which really, all they do to me is make my boys run FROM the yard. Lactose intolerance sucks and milkshakes are SOOO good – it’s such a double edge sword. And yes, every time I hear that song, I think of diarrhea. Not quite what Kelis had in mind I think.
Anyways, God, I could talk about poop all day, but that’s not what I’m telling you today. So, I had my monthly friend visiting and it was time to do some necessary business. Now, I have created my own little secret stashing place for my unmentionables, ok, let’s just get this out of the way, TAMPONS. There, now I can stop thinking of delicate words for it. Hell, I’ve already confessed to running diarrhea so I am not quite sure what I am so embarrassed about. This secret place doesn’t require an obvious purse or pockets, which I’ve discovered my work pants usually never have, or if they do, they are decoys and uselessly shallow and only there to showcase the fact that your hips are making them stick out at wierd angles. My genius spot? The waistband of my slacks. I just need 2 uninterrupted seconds to place said tampon and pull my shirt over it and VIOLA! I can discretely go to the bathroom with no one the wiser.
Now when I say 2 uninterrupted seconds, really, that’s all I need. But, in my office, much like my home, I have very little privacy. 2 uninterrupted seconds is damn near impossible. Over the years, I have summed up the difference between home and work is that I don’t wipe butts at the office. That’s the ONLY difference. And don’t tell my sales associates I am a fairly good ass wiper because then that will be the next request from them. So as I was saying, I was in the process of discretely placing said tampon in secret traveling location when unbeknownst to me, behind me magically appears a partner asking for something to be done. I jump like an idiot and try to quickly stash said tampon into the waistband and then try to casually act like I totally wasn’t doing anything just then. Standing there for no reason.
He gives me a weird look, pauses, then proceeds to give me the task at hand. He walks away and I breathe a sigh of relief and hope he didn’t see what I had in my hand. Then I look down. And see that the tampon has not slid into the waistband as hoped, but instead did this.
So, while one of our partners was trying to nonchalantly ask me to do my job, I was not so casually sporting a tiny thin PENIS from the top of my shirt. Awesome. I am the COOLEST person ever.
I will probably never know if he saw it. I’m too embarrassed to ask. And he won’t mention it. Ever. Trust me.
PS – HEY!! I just learned to embed something. Baby steps. Maybe one day, I’ll figure out how to make this blog somewhat readable. In the meantime, enjoy some Milkshake…