When I started blogging, I never imagined that I'd end up discussing things like my underwear or feminine products for all the internet to read. And yet, here I go again. Once again, men: a fair warning. There will be talk of maxi pads! And wings! Consider yourself warned.
Up until last December, I spent the majority of my sexually active life keeping track of my monthly cycle. The methods I used to keep track of my cycle varied depending on the desired result: Dear God, Please Don't Let Me Be Pregnant! or Dear God, Please Let Me Be Pregnant! There was no middle ground. I was either on the pill or charting my cycles. I could tell you within hours of when my period was going to start (Mike could probably tell you about a week before, chart or no chart, but if he wants to do that he'll have to start his own damn blog).
And then the December after Eli was born, we took Mike to get neutered a vasectomy. From that day forward, my ability to tell when and where my next period will land is about the same as my ability to predict the stock market. Or my ability to play euchre. Or my ability to drive a stick-shift. Which means to say, I really suck at figuring out my cycle.
So there we were last Saturday, visiting Nashville and staying with my brother and his family. Out of nowhere, we have another visitor: my dear Aunt Flo. Now I'm really good at packing. I've got our family covered for all kinds of travel situations: sudden illness, sudden disappearance of any and all grocery/big box stores, sudden need for a Martha Stewart Living or People magazine. What I did not pack for was my period.
Sure, I could have asked my sister-in-law to spot me a few feminine products. But number one, I'm picky about my sanitary napkins and tampons. And number two, what fun would that be when I saw a perfectly good opportunity to humiliate my husband? My husband who oh-so-conveniently was headed to the store with my brother.
I pulled Mike aside and whispered that I needed him to get something for me. He knows what I need and he is mortified. Like he'll actually have to walk down THAT aisle and TOUCH things that go Down There! But not so mortified that he'll stay home with both kids so I can run to the store myself. Such difficult decisions our men have to make. He wasn't happy about it, but he agreed.
Somewhere between the house and the store, my husband got to thinking and devised the most evil way to get me back for the humiliation that is the feminine product aisle:
He made my brother call me from store to find out exactly what I needed. There are a lot of conversations I'd rather not have with my brother, including this one:
Donnie: So what exactly are you looking for? Wings? Maximum overnight protection? Odor control?
Me: So help me God, I'm not having sex with that brother-in-law of yours for a year. Now please get me a pack of the Kotex Overnights without wings and a box of OB tampons . . . Yes, I know you can get tampons with applicators, thanks for the update. No, the normal size OB's, not the ones the size of a Lincoln Log, thankyouverymuch.
Touche, Mr. Six, touche.