I do not have a bucket list. Really, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have goals. Lofty, admirable goals. And one of those goals is to figure out which fucking Always pads to buy once and for all. Preferably before the onset of menopause. I’m racing against the clock here, people. Mona Lisa Vito had it easy in comparison. And I suspect there’s no Oscar in my future.
The other day I went to my local Rite Aid to buy some Always pads. (Btw, if I ever do make a bucket list, DO NOT EVER GO TO RITE AID AND STAND ON THEIR BREADLINE-INSPIRED-LINE will be at the tippy top with stars all around it. And not D-list, either.) Despite my inability to pick out the right pad, I am loyal to Always. It’s like their brand name hypnotized me into thinking that I must ALWAYS buy it. And it reminds me of this masterpiece, so how can I resist?
It always ends badly. I don’t understand the feminine hygiene product code-speak. It’s overnight and heavy and heavy with chance of thunder and light ultra light and phantom. If I were in charge, I’d label the pads “stuck pig” and “CSI” and “paper cut”. Because everyone knows what that means.
But I’m not in charge, which is why the other day I bought a package that read “ultra thin”, which I assumed (incorrectly, it turns out) referred to body type. Confusingly the label also read “JUMBO” but I guessed (erroneously, what are the chances?) that it was a nod to the savvy consumer who wanted to get more maxi pad bang for her buck.
When I opened the pad, I knew I was in trouble. Mostly because it seemed like a scarf.
“Come here,” I called to my daughter because I absolutely refuse to suffer alone and in silence. Really, I have no idea how martyrs do it.
“Whoa!” she said. “What is that?”
“This is a maxi pad,” I explained. I’m really good at this “teaching moment” bullshit.
“Who is it for?” She was confused. And a little scared.
“Well, that’s sort of what I was wondering,” I confessed. “Who would wear this? This is not your mother’s vagina.”
“Let’s take a picture!” she suggested.
“That’s a great idea,” I applauded her initiative. “But let’s photograph it next to something, so people can see the scale! Like maybe a dime? What do you think?”
“How about a ruler?” she suggested. She’s so mathy.
And we did.
And then we got more scared.
“It’s over a foot long,” she said.
“There are Subway sandwiches smaller than that pad,” she said.
Which is an excellent point. Maybe Subway should consider a feminine hygiene product line.