Warning: This post will contain the word tampon. It might contain other embarrassing words as well. I don't know yet, because I haven't actually written it.
Recently, I realized I was nearly out of tampons. Which of course, can not be. So, on my last trip to Wal Mart, I picked up a box or 4. And while I was there, it also made sense to stock up on a few other items. So with my leaning tower of girly stuff, I went to grab some hot dogs and frozen pizzas and promptly ran into someone I knew. Oddly, even though I can discuss my tampon needs with all and sundry in the written word, I felt very awkward running into anyone I knew with an inordinate amount of the things. OK, with any number of them. Which is weird, right? Because they are advertised on TV. It's not like it's a secret that women use these things.
As I was approaching this family, I hastily placed a couple of things over the boxes so that they weren't such a glowing signal, only to realize that I had emphasized the chocolate bars, crumb donuts, castor oil (for a facial, I swear!), Doritos, vicodin, Preparation H (eye bags, cracking feet. . . I swear) and a case of diet soda. Pretty much everything I might need to survive whatever nature throws at me. . . all displayed in a mortifying array in the bottom of my basket.
Which, when I told Rebi, reminded her of another bad shopping trip for tampons. And she promptly blushed and burst out laughing at the thought.
Last year, when I stocked up on the best invention since sliced bread, it was after midnight on a Saturday. I was pretty sure I wouldn't run into anyone I knew, so Rebi agreed to join me. Because we don't believe in bedtime around here.
After piling our Empire State Building of Always and Tampax into the cart, we turned the corner and ran into a bunch of teenage boys. That knew us by name. Trying to be nonchalant about the cart of embarrassing horrors, I calmly pulled a gallon of milk out of the cooler while Rebi edged closer and closer to the door. Without looking at the big shining TAMPONS which were beaming their orange logo like a batman beacon, I calmly set the milk in the cart on top of them. Except I missed.
And spilled an entire gallon of milk all over the floor, myself, and the boys. I believe I ruined 2 pair of shoes. Which was still less embarrassing than the fact that I managed to draw their attention right to the tampons. Go Figure.