As a blogger there is an implicit obligation to
over-share fully disclose the gruesome details of any mortifying or horrifying runs. This is one of those times. This post will not have any pictures, because I want to keep my G rating.
My story begins with it was that time of the month*. In polite society we still don’t use biological terms, we use vague time references that have a shared cultural understanding. During that time of the month products are necessary to ebb the flow. Some of these products are used internally. Grade school health class stuff.
Did anyone know that these internally used products could slide out of you body in the middle of a run? Or that you would feel the slow movement, confused at first, before slowly realizing the gravity (ha ha) of the situation and engaging every muscle to try and stop the inevitable? Because seriously, I’ve been “a woman now” for a long time now and never once in all my times of the month has this ever happened. Until it did. In the company of other people. People who are not women. Health class did not include lessons on inopportune tampon disposal or is that a tampon in your tights jokes.
Ill-prepared for the predicament in which I found myself, I soldiered on as though nothing unusual was happening (bonus: if I’ve learned anything from Pinterest, it’s that I am so much stronger for having overcome adversity). Tell me wise readers, WWYD if this happened to you?
Title: Knock Three Times – Tony Orlando and Dawn. 1970.
*Men, as you read this, don’t say ewwww – be grateful that this will never ever happen to you. Really, really grateful.