Showing posts with label buying tampons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label buying tampons. Show all posts
Saturday, August 17, 2013
the tampon-ic plague
while i may be a grown-ass woman, there are certain things that i still just can’t bring myself to do. chief among them is buying tampons when there’s a male cashier. he could be a sweet 75 year-old, a fugly 22 year-old, or a hot 30-something. he could be ron jeremy, he could be ryan gosling; none of this matters in the slightest. well, actually, buying tampons from ryan gosling would probably be the worst thing that could ever happen to me ... ever. even thinking about it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position and eat macaroni and cheese until the embarrassment subsides.
i get that we’re all human. everybody poops. dudes know that we ladyfolk are visited by a two-bit whore of a frenemy every single month. however, there’s just something deeply unsettling, socially mortifying, and downright weird about obtaining supplies intended for my hoo-ha from a complete (male) stranger. like, i might as well just stroll into walgreen’s, hijack the intercom, and scream, “i'm bleedin’, y’all!”.
please believe me when i tell you that i’m not a squeamish person in the slightest. i’ve endured many a brazilian wax. i’ve eaten sea urchin. hell, I’ve even used the restrooms at hampton beach. but put me in a line with some tampax in my hand and a man at the register, and i literally just fall apart. i sweat. i shake. tears form in my eyes. i contemplate shoplifting, and then imagine my face on the front of the boston herald, along with the the headline, “local woman faces prison sentence for stealing feminine hygiene products.” at this point, one of of two things usually happens: i put the box back on the shelf and go on a pharmacy-crawl until i find some dour old lady to ring me up, or i pile insane amounts of candy, gum, and gossip mags into my basket to distract from the glaring awkwardness of my purchase.
the latter tactic never helps much -- there’s always that 30 seconds of pain and suffering, during which the employee and i desperately try to avoid eye contact, and he asks me if i’m a rewards member.
honey, getting through this transaction was reward enough.
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