If you are male, and prefer to remain oblivious to all things female, you should stop reading NOW.
I knew this day would come. I didn't know how, or when, or what I would be wearing when it happened, but I knew it would happen. With this knowledge, you would think that I would be a little more prepared. You would think. It's true, I've walked past the feminine hygiene aisle about five million times in the past two years, and not once have I stopped there. I should have, it would make sense, planning ahead and all. Maybe it was a *head in the sand* type of thing, if I didn't buy a box of Tampax, I would never have to use them. That sounds logical, right?
So this morning, I woke up totally unaware that a pair of my favorite animal print undies were ruined. Ruined. After the initial shock had worn off (about 27 minutes later), I searched for some kind of instinct that I know I used to have. I'm bleeding to death, what do I do?? I can't remember! I would have slapped myself if I had thought about it, but I didn't. After another 27 minutes of utter confusion and toilet paper folding, I got my shit together and started to hunt. There had to be something in this apartment that would stop the madness. I mean, I'm a girl, right? There has to be one errant tampon or pregnancy pad in this place. Just one, all I flippin' need. I searched in all the likely places, under the bathroom sink, under the other bathroom sink, in the linen closet. Nothing. I tore through every purse that I have ever carried (that's about a million), searched every coat pocket and diaper bag, checked junk drawers and crap boxes and Home From the Hospital kits. I'm a girl who is bleeding to death and I don't have ANYTHING to stop it. Poor Madelynn, she probably thought Mommy had gone crazy.
And then it hit me. Hit me like a whole box of refill baby wipes right to the face.
I went to Walmart wearing a size one Pamper's (the size three was very uncomfortable). It looks like I'm back in diapers again. Dammit.