IN which I pull on my ranty panties...
Tonight I had to run to the drugstore so that I could buy some “feminine hygiene products” because in a house with 3 women of childbearing age (ok, two of ‘em had best not be bearing any children until after grad school and I’m done but you know what I mean), we tend to run out real fast.
SO there I am, in the “feminine hygiene” aisle, staring at this vast array of plastic wrapped, colorful, over-packaged products in complete bafflement. And I had a few thoughts that I wanted to share with my readers.
First. “Feminine Hygiene products.” Ok, nuff said. How about “Stuff for when you are bleeding because you’re a girl and that happens.” or just “Maxipads and Tampons” there in the aisle header.
Second. Wings. On maxi pads. Okay? Who thought that up? Who thought little plastic sticky wings were a good idea? This is not a remake of Aladdin for my vagina. I am not going to fly anywhere. It is not a whole new world. Why then, I ask, do I need wings? Can someone answer this question?
“To keep your panties fresh.” I am sure some Madison Ave. exec is muttering. “Duh.”
I am here to state, for the record, that wings don’t help with the freshness issue. What wings do is get all stuck the wrong way and then when you try to adjust things, they stick themselves to the bottom of the pad and become unusable. Then there you are, in the second stall in the ladies room, swearing at your panties and wondering why your coworkers all look at you funny when you walk out. And if you do by some lucky chance get the wings wrapped around there right, creating a little plastic freshness ensuring panty burrito, the odds are very good that at some point during your day (unless you have a Brazilian), a stray hair will work its way into the adhesive, creating a very painful pulling sensation that must be rectified immediately. And there you are, casually limping into the nearest broom closet or bathroom to fix things but trying to look as if you haven’t a care in the entire world.
“Well gee whiz, Martha Sue. That there gal sure does have a curious hitch in her gitalong.”
Thank you Madison Avenue, I’ll skip the panty burrito. The only reason I might want wings anywhere near my panties is so that the rabid mongoose currently residing in my uterus can hop on and fly away, back to rabid mongoose cramps land.
Third. Little adhesive strips that read, “Have a happy period.” I’m sorry? Have a happy what? What is that all about? Please refer to item #1 and the part where I talked about the rabid mongoose. There is nothing you can write on my hygiene products that is going to help with that. Unless I suddenly get a houseboy with mad skills at hot fudge sundaes and foot massage, I probably am not going to have a happy period. At last put something helpful on there like, “How about a nice cabernet?” or “For God’s sake, eat some chocolate.” or even “Put the .22 down and go take a nap.”
Madison Avenue, I don’t want pink plastic or cartoons, cute little sayings, quotes, pearlescent coverings, tampax dusted with pixie dust or symbolic flowers. I don’t need six sizes and absorbencies of ultrathin now with super absorbent power and wings and a cute quote on the back plus flower fresh perfume. I am not embarrassed by my body’s functions and do not need these things to make the experience more palatable to myself or anyone else. BUT I am a little abashed when I have to stand there blocking the aisle for ten minutes scratching my head and trying to figure out which box of “hygiene” products has been specially formulated for my specific needs while some pubescent box boy unpacks aspirin 7 feet away. That process is not palatable to me one bit.
If you’re going to try to make the experience a little nicer? I wouldn’t say boo to a complimentary Ritter Bar or 3 pack of Godiva truffles inside each package. Or a coupon for a nice Merlot. That would not be overkill, in my book.
And for god’s sake? Lose some of the plastic over-packaging. I really don’t want to destroy the environment over this.
Next time on The Too Much Information Channel… trying to buy over the counter yeast infection treatments. Why they keep that shit locked up behind plexiglass and why I always get the one clueless male checker who has to shout across the store “What kind of YEAST CREAM did you want again, lady?” when I have three frat boys in the line behind me, is beyond me. Hilarity always ensues.