As a parent, I find myself invited over other parents’ houses for get-togethers a lot. It’s not like I’m popular or anything. It’s just that my pre-kid clubbin’ days are officially over. And NO ONE, I mean no one, wants to see my muffin top in DA CLUB dancin’ to 50 Cent. Go shorty, it’s your birthday.
Alas, the parent house party is a way better option for my life these days. They’re low key and they don’t require a spray tan or a pedicure. Dress code is sweat pants (okay fiiineee, yooogggaaa pants). Each person brings a dish (and booze) to share. Everyone brings their kids to play with each other. The really “on top of it” parent brings activities and crafts for the kids. Let the parental fun begin. HOOOLLAAAAAA!!
The biggest benefit to parent parties is that we don’t have to find (or pay for) babysitters.
Everyone goes home by 9 or 10 o’clock. BOOM. That’s a parent house party right there. Loads of fun. It’s a cheap way to socialize in a pseudo-adult capacity.
But dear gawd, I pray no one invites me over for a parent party when I’m on my period. The embarrassment of burying my bloody business at your house party pains me.
Yes, I would totally rather be horizontal on my couch, raggin’ it out with Netflix and ice cream. And that’s exactly where I should be when Aunt Flo comes to town.
Alas, I cave because…you know, the kids. Gotta make the kids happy. Gotta be social. Get outta the house more. And all that crap.
So this means, I will now have to exhibit extensive, circus-like acts to hide my period products at your house party. Clean ones in my purse. Dirty ones — AHHHH!!! Where to put them??!!
I panic. Like serious panic mode over some bloody f*cking pads. I blame patriarchy. (I could whine about patriarchy for another 5 paragraphs, but I’ll spare you).
Anyway — the incognito, feminine product conundrum never bothered me before kids. Probably because the house parties I attended pre-kids had tons of black-out inducing booze and joints. No one woulda gave a damn about my bloody cooter plugs or pads.
So what to do with my sanitary sweethearts when the bathroom trash to put them in — is completely clean? Glistening, in fact. And threateningly – empty. DAMN YOU neat and organized parents!
Oh, the horror!
Let’s be real here though for a second. You all know damn well that the humiliation of wearing a maxi pad starts way before you even get into the sparkly, clean bathroom.
It starts when you feel it bulging through your skinny jeans — looking like either a penis from the front or a tail from the back.
It starts while ripping apart the very loud packaging that encases the new, clean maxi pad. With the bathroom door closed, in a house full of screaming kids, you could probably still hear the packaging of a maxi pad being ripped apart at 86 decibels. That’s the volume of a chainsaw, folks. And it looks like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in your old pad.
Yeah — so after ripping your new maxi pad packaging that can be heard clear across three continents — you then have to figure out how to best conceal your old, bloody pad. Most women wrap the old pad up like a bazillion times with toilet paper. The result is a miniature Charmin cloud. But, what to do with the cloud?
To place the pad as lone evidence in the trash, or to not? That is the question.
I mean, if there’s a few snot-smeared tissues already in the trash — you’re in luck. Just dig a bit under the soiled tissues, and place your toilet paper wrapped pad underneath those tissues.
Seriously, I feel like I’m burying a dead body. Please, I plead with you people. Don’t clean out your trashes for me. I want to see all of your trash. Soooooo you don’t see mine.
Period.
But if the trash is painfully empty — anyone that goes into the bathroom after you will see that huge lump of toilet paper sitting in the trash. It’s impossible to be inconspicuous. They’ll know immediately that you’re a bloody f*cking mess. And gawd help you if Fido, the family dog, goes into the bathroom later and sniffs out your fishy-iron smelling pad and presents it half-eaten to all of the house guests. Or maybe, the toddler who just started “exploring” takes it out of the trash and starts throwing it like a ball across the living room because he thinks it’s a “Ball mama! I throw ball mama!”
When faced with an empty trash, I have only one other option. Take the evidence with me. Yup, that’s right. I’ve been known to wrap up my bloody pad in at least 10 revolutions of toilet paper, and put that shit in my purse. And I know you bought your purse into the bathroom with you, because you had to bring your clean pads.
I simply bury that nasty pad in my bottomless “mom purse” and keep it movin.’ I’ll dispose of my mammoth maxi pad with wings (AKA adult-diaper) at home, thank ya very much. I just admitted that I smuggle my soiled sanitary napkins from house parties. I think I have a problem.
This panic over my period paraphernalia is too much to handle. I gotta try the diva cup. PS — no worries, I always wash my hands.
Images: secure.static.tumblr.com, redmoongang.tumblr.com
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