A funny thing happened on the way to my 18th year of life and freshman year of college. Technically, it was bound to happen eventually. But it was the absolute worst day of my life. I woke up in a what looked like a murder scene. My extra long twin sized bed had to bare witness to my first period. I don’t even know how I slept through my lady parts finally erupting then flowing like Niagara Falls. I remember waking up, laying in bed, not wanting to move, and all I could muster to say was “fuck”.
I felt like a character out of a Judy Blume book.
Dear God, It’s Me Yesha: I knew it was bound to happen, but I was hoping that I was granted a little more time to be period free. Thanks.
I remember my years of elementary, middle school and high school, the bane of all of my girlfriend’s existence was their period. In 5th grade, my friend opened up her purse and showed me her collection of tampons. Hell, I didn’t even know what they were at first. She told me that she had to sneak and buy them because her mother only allowed her to use maxi-pads, which she hated. Naeemah would save up her allowance not for candy, but for tampons. Naeemah was a tampon connoisseur. She would head to the pharmacy across the street from our school to pick her favorites. She kept them in her desk and only used maxi-pads when she was home. Naeemah told me her mother only allowed her to use the pads because “tampons were not for virgins”. And that was something I kept in my head. It didn’t matter that every year we had sex and health education classes and the teachers told us the only way to become “de-virginized” was to actually have a penis inserted into your vagina, and not a tampon.
Nope, no tampons were coming anywhere close to my lady parts.
Then the bloodbath my freshman year happened. Imagine the scene from Carrie, with the pig’s blood, but laying down in a twin sized bed. That’s exactly how I felt.
I asked my friend to borrow a maxi-pad so I could run to the student center store to buy my own. She looked at me like I was crazy. “What do you want a maxi-pad for? Those are gross, try a tampon,” she said. It’ll be easy she said. I looked at her like she was crazy. She didn’t have maxi-pads, so I improvised with some tissue and ran to the student center store. As I walked to the store, with the uncomfortable feeling of about 40 squares of 1 ply commercial tissue in my panties, I was pissed. At 18-years-old, I purchased my first box of maxi-pads.
Three days into my brand new spanking period, I pretty much said, fuck this maxi-pad shit. Wings? Extra long? The shit was for the birds. I didn’t want to walk around feeling like I was a super soaker and constantly wet in the pants. At 18-years-old, and still a virgin, I had to forget what Naeemah’s mother said. I stockpiled tampons. I hoarded tampons. Tampons were my new best friend.
19 years later, I’m still a fan of the bullet shaped piece of cotton and fibers. Thank god for tampons. I love tampons more than I love cake. Y’all can keep those maxi-pads and that diva cup mess. Tampons for life, well at least until my wretched period finally comes to an end. I’m probably the only person looking forward to menopause.