TMI, Hair drier tragedy and T-Rex

I warn you this post will talk graphically about menstruation. Specifically my own. You have been warned about TMI!


So I just finished "God, no!" by Penn Jillette this evening. My husband read it first and was patiently awaiting my completion of the book to discuss the one chapter in it that he claimed was: the funniest thing he'd ever read in his life! Please go read this book and then call me and we can discuss that chapter together! Hubster was in bed waiting for me to join him there so he could gage my reaction to the aforementioned chapter.

Now I shall not ruin said book for others. Nor do I want to infringe on copyright. And frankly the whole point of bringing up the book is: 1. to frame the argument that Comedy is Tragedy happening to someone else and 2. to explain how my day became a prime example of that principal today.

So the hubster asks me how did I find the chapter and I said it was really, really funny as I go to the closet to get my feminine products from said closet to prepare for bedtime.

I then told my husband that cardboard tampon applicators are a menace to society. And the following recounting of my own days humiliation ensues:

Me: "You'd think my organic cotton non-bleached tampons are a good thing."

Hubster: "Um yeah."

Me: "Well they are not and here's why..."

And they are great tampons just for those reasons. (Now seriously think about that- bleached paper up the vajay-jay can't be good for you.) I love my Pandora Pads™ and adore me a Diva Cup™ but not when you have to share the bathroom with a four-year-old.

And especially not when cramped in a good friend's powderoom/laundry room, with no exhaust fan, after someone had two people before you had a power dump.

Now I mense in two flows- no flow for months at a time or fire hose. Ew.

I have also found that since giving birth I like the comfort of using both types of feminine care to protect from leakage issues while out of the house. And disposable product is the only way to go.

Now please imagine (if you have no small kids bear with me, those of you with them can just nod.) that every time you want to use the toilet you have to look behind you to make sure your child isn't there. Because you've sat down before checking and sat on an arm, or barely missed you kid's head because they are so intrigued about what you might make in the potty they have to look real quick before you go no matter the harm they might yet again suffer.

So back to my Greek tragedy.

We are in my friend's powder room. She goes potty. Then I go. We've both waited a bit to long and my back up, anti-leakage system has kept me from public ridicule. But what to do? My pad is soaked so I know the tampon is too.

My kid is all about menstruation. She's asking me mile a minute questions as I sit down to pee.

She wants to see the unopened pad packaging. She wants to see the unwrapped tampon. I am happily answering her questions then everything goes bad.

She sees the soiled pad attached to my undies and backs away with a look on her face like zombies have descended upon her. I quickly change the subject to My Little Pony Friendship is Magic politics and distract her while I switch out the old pad for the new.

But here's the problem. How to take out the tampon with out scarring her for life? I know it's going to be bad. the amount of blood on the pad confirms the tampon has become a blood sponge.

I have to wrap up the soiled tampon, after i remove it,  with out her seeing and because my friend's house is over 100 years old and I can't flush the thing because it can clog the pipes. It needs to be tossed away in the kitchen neatly buried under my bachelor friends garbage!

So I attempt to remove the tampon quickly and nonchalantly whilst discussing whether or not Rarity likes apple tarts as much as Rainbow Dash.

I get the darned thing out and- of course it's beyond soaked, it's dripping wet. It's a lump of bloody mouse in my hand. And I am trying desperately to wrap it up in toilet paper before the kidlet sees it. When this simple potty routine becomes like scene in Carrie.

She notices the sodden tampon I am frantically trying to hide. She sees the blood bloom through the TP as it begins to drip down my wrist and begins to back pedal away from me and what I hold like the gym doors are locked and my hands are on fire. She has her arms tucked so high up in her armpits in her fear that she looks like a baby T-Rex.

So my baby T-Rex with her face in a frozen mask of horror is trying to back pedal in a 2'x2' space away from my offending feminine care. She's trying to climb up the front of the washer without turning around because if she does my tampon might get her if she looks away. Little T-Rex arms wildly twisting in front of her to fend of the vision before her. Her eyes huge pools of fear, like anime drawings. Her mouth wide open and slack at the same time. Slowly tilting from side to side with little squeaks of air passing through her voice box that sound like a water filled float duck being squeezed.

Meanwhile in the room outside the door my husband and friends are wondering what the heck is taking so long. Then they hear the pounding of my kids elbows and heels on the washer front as she frantically trys to escape me, boom, boom, boom. And are now loudly questioning if we are all okay in there?

Inside the Tomb of Horrors, I am quickly wrapping up the mess and trying to calm down everything. I am trying to assure the grown ups we are almost done and can return to our game of Uno. I need a distraction pronto!

"So do you think any other ponies will become Alicorns next season?" I ask my daughter.

She stops and turns her tiny T-Rex armed body to me, head tilted in an uncanny image of a real dinosaur or dog hearing a high pitched sound and says: "Maybe Rarity."

Whew! Disaster averted, I think. But no. The Universe is still having too much fun laughing at me.

I unwrap my Eco-friendly, non-bleached tampon with it's biodegradable insertion tube faster than lighting. And as I begin to insert it and finish this damn potty session, it gets stuck half inserted into my vagina. The feeling of dry sandpaper clinging to my delicate girl flesh is unbearable.Then the bottom of the tube pulls out. I am half crouched over the potty, trying to insert the now pint sized tube into my body without re-traumatizing my kid. I some how manage to rip the sandpaper out and force the micro tube up where it needs to be while taking about My Little Pony and without making any pain filled faces. And finally we are able to wash up and get out of that powder room.

Now I am explaining this to the hubster. Making the faces my child had made. Waving my little T-Rex arms in horror and disgust at him. And he's laughing so hard and loudly he wakes up our daughter. At 12:30am. Who quips from the other room: "Periods are gross. Goodnight. Don't wake me up again Daddy, Hurrumph!"

So beware the cardboard applicator. Watch out for stray arms and legs and heads before you sit down. Keep up on Ponyville politics and story lines.

Remember comedy is Tragedy happening to Someone else.

And perhaps you too can survive your next potty session with a four year old.

Stay Pony my Friends.