Thanks to my lovely cervical procedure last week, I am not allowed to have anything “in the vagina” for ten days. That includes tampons. A panty liner for the day or two after the procedure wasn’t too bad. But then, lucky me, I started my period on Sunday. So for the past four days I have been forced to wear pads. Yes, pads! I didn’t even know people still used them! I know I hadn’t since probably the 8th grade.
I went to Kroger thinking I’d just grab a box and be done, but they had so many varieties! I stood in the aisle for a good five minutes before making my decision (all while slightly embarrassed to be looking at pads and not tampons, I’m pretty sure everyone was thinking “what’s wrong with her, why can’t she use a tampon?”). Most of the boxes were pretty standard. Pink, looked pretty thick, and in no way comfortable. To make myself feel just a bit better about my situation, I chose the box that looked “the cutest”. I mean, if I have to wear a pad shouldn’t the wrapper at least by cute? You can see the winning box and pad below.
As cute as my new pads might look on the outside, they are still the same old pads, only slightly more comfortable now that I’m not thirteen. Why do I hate pads so much you ask? Here are ten reasons these absorbent “winged” products should only be warn in emergency situations, like mine.
- They are lady diapers. When I wear them I feel lifted off my seat at my desk and I’m pretty sure I waddle because my legs aren’t as close together. At least if I pee a little when I sneeze I’m covered!
- You can’t be stealth about anything. Those little a-holes seem to announce your presence when you walk into a room. I can hear my every move (or at least, I think I can).
- Those fancy “wings” don’t do a damn thing. They never stick and my pad is always moving around.
- Maximum absorbency my butt, I change these more than tampons because they feel warm and…I hate this word….moist.
- They are not at all discrete. Tampons fit nicely into your front pocket, or up your sleeve. Pads do not. Unless I bring my purse with me to the bathroom (which I do not at work), they just scream “I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding!”
- My dogs great me by running up to me at the door and sticking their faces directly in my crotch. And they try to put face in crotch every chance they get. Mama’s in heat! Dogs = sharks.
- You can’t flush pads! So now I have to stick my pad (after wrapping it up in TP, of course) in those gross metal bins in public restrooms, or in the garbage at my house which might also translate as dog food. Don’t forget to close the bathroom door!
- Exercise = chafing.
- Somehow, I always end up with blood on my underwear, especially when I sleep. Not sure how it happens, but it does. I swear. No pair of underwear is safe! And by husband asks me why I wear granny panties….
- I feel like I am walking around in filth all day. Just sitting in my own filth. And everyone obviously knows it.
I could keep going but I have to go change my pad now!