Tampoons

I pity you poor ladies. You get the bum’s rush to life.

First you grow lumps on your chest, then strap them up, then wear war paint on your face, shave your legs, squeeze into girdles and then the bleeding starts. For one week every month you feel like crap and have to stuff pads and stuff in your undies.

Now as a guy, we got our problems with puberty too, but nothing like yours. Oh we get boners when we see you walk by with a little bounce in your step and occasionally have premature ejaculations, but not having to wear our sweater around our waste due to spillage.

The reason I even mention this is I had to take a turn at the Tummy Temple today to move around a traffic jam of confused lost shoppers and wound up in the ‘sanitary pad’ aisle. Modern science and marketing has many packages for this stuff and I still get embarrassed to be here.

When dating, the girl would say, “I’m on the rag” and I’d see her in another week. I never wanted to know the details.

Sanitary napkins (like contraception or sexual procedure) was never mentioned, at least in proper circles.

When I got married, I let my wife go pick out her feminine products and buy them separately and stuffed away in a brown paper bag. If she ran out and sent me to replenish, I always got the wrong thing or size or whatever because I just wanted to get it and get out.

Even buying rubbers…. ah, prophylactics, I’d avoid and take my chances. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

Unlike today where they keep them next to the comic books, the family planning products were kept behind the counter (with the girly magazines and bullets) and requested from the druggist to pick out and purchased. I think you had to have your ID checked too.

I don’t need to buy either now but in my wanderings through the aisles I notice the diapers. That was something else I never had to buy, but a little bit further down the aisle there are the ‘adult’ diapers.

Having just had another Geezer birthday and not incontinent yet, it is only a matter of time.