Brittany: Is it just me, or did your period just get more and more ridiculous every time you pushed a child out of your vagina?
Shauna: I had a hysterectomy three years ago.
Brittany: On purpose?
Shauna: Well my uterus was falling out of my body.
Brittany: The good stuff always happens to you.
I’ve always been a tampon user, which was a bit out of the comfort zone for my mother, who claims she could never use tampons. Probably the same way she can’t use contacts because she doesn’t like putting her finger in her eye. Thankfully, I’ve never been one to shy away from eye poking.
My body just takes real offense to having to sit there on a hot, wet mushy pad. It’s like conducting my daily activities on a waterbed…covered in goo. I mean, I don’t need to paint this picture for you, you know how maxi-pads work.
In seventh grade, the girl next to me in Western Civilization started her period for the first time, and I loaned her a tampon, gave her a brief, whispered how-to, and sent her on her way. She limped back to her seat 20 minutes later, barely able to sit. I mean, it was a super tampon, perhaps you’re supposed to work your way up.
Brittany, I don’t think tampons are for me, it really hurts.
Like, it’s too big to fit?
No, like the plastic part is cutting into me.
That’s the applicator. You’re supposed to take that part out of you once you get it up there.
I’m just a firm believer that when it comes to menstruation, in is better than out. Except now, three kids later, in is a lot harder than it looks. So, I spend a good portion of my day concentrating on keeping that super extra big tampon up there, with a stupid back up pad on anyway. I might as well shove a couple of gym socks up there.
Shauna: What about those Diva Cups? You just stick it up there, it collects the…you know…and you empty it.
Brittany: I don’t know. I’m notorious for spilling things down the front of me.
It was decided, next round of flow, I was cupping it. All I had to do was wait for my monthly gift from the lady fairy, which conveniently happened as I boarded an airplane to Dallas with nothing in hand but my Snooki Had a Baby People magazine, Red Vines, and a brand spankin’ new Diva Cup.
I was not prepared to learn this new skill on an airplane. I was prepared to do it three days later in the comfort of Shauna’s guest bathroom with the fan on and my early 90s Brittany Spears Spotify playlist blaring.
So, here’s the thing. You buy these things based on age and childbirth count, which put me at Over 30 Super Floppy, aka, like a red solo cup for my vagina. The whole premise is based on sticking your hand up there and creating some sort of suction so it stays on like a plunger and collects your junk, which would have been easier had I not already been bleeding and on a fucking airplane.
The ride was super bumpy, we were beginning our descent, and things were just not happening according to plan. I was elbow deep in my kid hole, sweating like a pig, with no little bottles of liquor. So I gave up, wadded up a few handfuls of paper towels, tried to scrub the murder scene off my arms, and walked out of the airplane bathroom like Old Country For Old Men just happened up in there.
A hysterectomy for Christmas, I decided. Until then, I’ll just bleed everywhere and attract bears.