Warning: The following is too much information about lil' old me. I have a habit of giving out too much information. (What my Grandmother would refer to as diarrhea of the mouth.) The following is an example. Having said this, continue reading at your own risk. You have been warned.
Have you ever just had an idea about something? When I say idea, I'm speaking of a strongly held, perhaps unconscious belief that something is undeniably a certain way. Maybe you've never even spoken of this belief to another living soul, but it's just something you know to be true? And then have you ever one day realized that your strongly held belief is absolute insanity? Insanity with a capital I, dipped in delusion and sprinkled with idiocy?
If your answer is yes, then read on my friend, this story is certain to make you feel better about your own life at the expense of mine.
In elementary school my group of best friends and I used to pray for our periods. (Yes, I know, very "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret," but really, we did.) We actually prayed. Little did I know that they'd all be getting theirs ASAP and I'd end up waiting until I was 14 years old. I was somehow always underweight as a kid, and that's probably why my period was delayed. Of course, looking back on it I am gloriously happy that I got to put off "the curse" for as long as I did.
The night before I got my first period I remember experiencing a terrible, out of the blue belly ache. The pain was so excruciating, I had no idea why God was punishing me so viciously. Then the next morning I woke up and realized, hey, I had just gotten my period. Hmm, what do you know.
I was in a big fight with my Mom and older sister that weekend. Looking back on it, had the circumstances been different perhaps I could have saved myself a host of heartache. But alas, this was not in the cards. When I woke up that morning and discovered I was now officially a woman, my first thought was, "Ha! Now won't the two of them feel ASHAMED when they find out months from now that I got my period and never told either one of them! Ha! They'll be sorry!" And so on, in a generally bitter, maniacal sort of way.
I guess you could describe me as being "naive" sometimes. I'm just going to come right out and say it: For some reason, for as long as I can remember, I always thought maxi pads went on the outside of your underwear. Now before you think I'm joking, please know that I am being 100% serious. It's not like I was a stupid kid. I was a brainy child, always in honors or advanced placement classes, eventually going on to become a member of the National Honors Society. I just happened to believe that maxi pads were meant to be stuck to the outside of your underwear. Like, tape side up, on the outside. So the blood won't get all over your jeans. Go figure!
So that morning, I did what any other red-blooded American girl would do. I stuck the maxi pad to the outside of my underwear. (Have I actually admitted this to another living non-family member? Because I'm not sure...) But that is what I did. Because, after all, that is what you do!
The next day, as I got ready for school for the first time as a woman, my pants felt a little extra bulky. To be certain, I felt like I was wearing a diaper. I wondered if people would notice a "bulge." Ever the resourceful youth, I decided to deflect from any bulginess by wearing tights underneath my pants.
As the week wore on, I slowly began to realize I was ruining every pair of underwear I owned. I couldn't help thinking, Boy, this is a really inefficient way of dealing with something that is going to happen once a month for at least the next thirty or forty years! You'd think by now someone would've thought of a way to take care of this problem without destroying your underwear! Seriously!
I'm not even sure how I found out. In the end I think I finally cracked and casually mentioned to my Mom that I had gotten my period. Relieved to finally be able to talk about my situation, I expanded upon this information, telling her how I had ruined about seven pairs of underwear that week.
"Mom, it's kind of silly, I'm wrecking all of my underwear! These pads don't work!"
"Really?" she asked, starting to sound a little nervous, then adding, "Why? How?"
"Well," I explained, "It's stupid, the pad barely catches any of the blood."
"Sarah, Sasa," my horrified Mother intoned, "What do you mean? Are you sure you're putting it on right?" She paused a second before adding, "You're sticking it inside of your underwear, right?"
Now I was beginning to become impatient. What did she think I was, stupid? "Ya, Mom, of course I put it on right, I'm not an idiot! I stick the pad underneath. You know, like, under."
No, she didn't, like, know. Nobody, like, knew. I was alone on this one. And now the horrible truth had been exposed: I had been sticking the pad, sticky side up, to the outside of my panties. Why? Honestly, why? Looking back on it, I really can't say. Logically, it makes no sense. I thought the blood was meant to get all over my underwear, but not on my pants. The pad was there on the outside to catch it from going onto my pants. I have no other explanation, no defense. This was simply what I believed to be true. I thought this was the function of maxi pads.
It's not even like I was some terrible, friendless teenage misfit, either. I guess I was just...clueless with a touch of stubborn?
When I told my Mom I was going to write a story on this subject, first she cracked up laughing because, well, my family always has that reaction whenever we speak of this matter. But then she got a little serious and said, "You know, honey, are you sure you want to tell people about this? Maybe don't tell them how old you were...what were you, like, 14, 15? They might think...something is wrong with you."
I think it's safe to say that sometimes even I think there is something wrong with me. Sometimes I get sort of nervous. I mean, what if I hold other wacky beliefs that are just...grossly inaccurate? Will there be many more bizarre surprises like this in my life? God I hope not. I hope when the stork delivers my first born I will have read up on all of the details so I'll know exactly what to expect. And, do I have to tip the stork? What, like, 20% or something?
The first time I learned how to use a tampon is another story. Another long, gruesome story. But I think I'll probably have to get my Sister's permission before I tell that one.
