"Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. -LiluToday's TMI Thursday is brought to you from my 8th grade diary, when maxipad technology was EXTREMELY primitive, not like today's thin and light specimens with wings. We were tortured with thick thick awful things that rival Depends.
My 13 year old self observed (one particularly awful month):
Why are women so grouchy that time of the month? Because they're wearing a freaking diaper for a week and look hermaphroditic, like they have a male body part.Yeah. I hated it then and I hate it now. I remember the day I wrote this. I slunk to the nurse's office after bleeding all over the seat in English class, and Scott F. screamed, when he saw my stained pants, "blogrollandroll HAS HER PERIOD!!!!!!!!!!!!" down the hall in a booming voice whose decibal level rivaled a megaphone. Goddamn that boy could yell. I've never seen anyone before or since with a healthier set of lungs.
Manufacturers must enter contests like "who can produce the fattest, widest, thickest and longest maxi? MUST stretch from tailbone to naval. And put the ones designated for junior high students in a big cardboard box so some poor slob has to carry it down the hall from the nurse's office to the bathroom like a 13 yr old UPS driver. Oh, and make sure the sticky part doesn't really stick so it slips down your leg as you walk. Bonus points for swishy noises that capture the attention of all 13 year old boys within a 50-yard radius."
And then the nurse handed me a fucking BOX the size of my thigh which contained a single pad. No one carried purses then so I slunk down the hall holding this CARTON out in front of me which broadcast its hated contents of FRESHNESS to any nearby leftover deaf-mute who hadn't already heard Scott's emergency broadcast. It took 10 minutes just to dismantle it because I wasn't carrying a boxcutter. And 8th-grade bathrooms are not equipped for privacy or stealth, so all the smokers just listened to me inside the flimsy stall struggling to open the box; what came out was the size and shape of a small mink. And about as absorbent.
I tried to fix it in place but within seconds of walking out, the mink began migrating down my pant leg with every step.
You can imagine the rest of the day from there.
It was an awesome, awesome day. Full of win.
Sigh.
More TMI Thursdays?
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