** If you will be in Southern California on March 11th and you're interested in attending the Plastic Surgery party, you can go here for details. **
My male readers today should smile, wave, and walk away. I welcome all of you nice men to come back tomorrow. There's nothing here a man wants to read about today anyway.
Okay girls/women/people of the feminine persuasion ….
Apparently, I was leaving a trail of still-in-the-wrapper tampons behind me yesterday everywhere I went. I didn't realize it, of course, or I wouldn't have done it. Also? I wouldn't have continued to do it all.fucking.day.long.
I'm not even, ahem, needing them this week.
I suppose I should start at the beginning? Because I know you want to read about The Tale Trail of My Tampons.
It's sort of like the story of Hansel and Gretel, but different.
I woke up with a headache yesterday. I mainly get headaches as a result of shoulder/neck issues from my car accident. This was different. This felt like a PMS headache. Frequently, right before my 5-7 days of celebrating blissful womanhood each month, I get a mean, kick-ass, headache.
It arrives to keep my bloating and irritability company.
Do I sound like a feminine hygiene commercial yet?
I've really overbooked my calendar for the entire month of March. Yesterday, was certainly no exception. I needed to be all over Orange County and I knew it would be a long day of driving, errands, and appointments. I didn't expect to return home until evening time.
I downed two Advil with my morning coffee. Trying to be smart, and prepared, I decided I should take some tampons with me just in case. There was only one problem, I seemed to be out of them. I started hunting around the house, checking cosmetic bags, old purses, etc., in search of an emergency stash.
I found some upstairs in one of my travel bags. They were non-applicator, little, itty-bitty, tampons, perfect for travel. I have a couple purses downstairs and I decided I would take a bunch of them downstairs with me to put in the various purses, once again, just in case.
I stuffed my pants pockets with tampons. The non-applicator tampons are very tiny – only … maybe two inches long? That meant I could fit a hell of a lot of them in my four pockets. My intention, of course, was to transfer them to the purses downstairs. I don't even remember now, what distracted me after I put the tampons in my various pockets and before I put them into a purse, but something did.
I completely forgot about them.
Sheesh, you would NOT believe the day I had yesterday. I left the house in the morning and returned after 6 p.m. I was in almost every major city in Orange County at some point during the day. I drove, and I drove, and I met with people and talked, and had appointments, and blah, blah, blah.
I never did need those tampons. My headache went away and I completely forgot all about my blessed, holier than thou, possibly approaching, celebration of womanhood.
I forgot, that is, until I was leaving my very last appointment of the day.
"You dropped a few things," called out the male owner of my hair salon.
I was three feet out the door already. I had just gotten the purple streak in my hair replaced with a blue streak. (It's now a really pretty aqua!)
I was headed to my car, and extremely grateful my day was finally coming to an end.
I turned and looked at him questioningly.
I saw he already had something in his hand and he was closing the gap between the two of us as he picked up another …
What the hell?
Instantly, my brain flashed on my chaotic morning and the many, many, tampons I had stuffed into my pockets.
Thank God, the salon owner is the most down to earth, nice, man I've ever encountered. He handed me the two tampons he'd picked up. I blushed, mumbled "thank you" while keeping my eyes diverted and walked to my car.
I know when I see him again, he'll pretend nothing ever happened. How nice will that be? He won't be awkward with me, or conversely overly familiar, now that he's had his hands all over my tampons. Maybe he'll even give me a box of tampons as a gift one day now that he knows what brand I buy.
To be honest, I was almost too exhausted from my day to even care that a man I barely know was retrieving the trail of tampons I'd left behind me.
But then …
Then it hit me.
I had put two full handfuls of mini-tampons into my various pockets.
Not one of those tampons was still there.
My pockets were completely, one hundred percent, empty.
I got to my car. I checked. No tampons had fallen out of my pockets while I was in the car.
No, of course not. The tampons only fall out of my pockets when I walk.
I must have left a trail of them behind me everywhere I went, all day long.
So, if you live in Orange County and you've been wanting to meet me?
Just follow the trail of my tampons …
It will lead you right to me.
© Twenty Four At Heart