I should have worn extra protection. I didn't because it's Day 4 - my feminine mystique slacks off by Day 4. Plus, my faithful Diva Cup holds a full ounce - I should be good. And yet... the squelchiness.
I wince when I bend over to grab a paint brush... Oh, that does not feel right... I am decidedly squelchy... And apparently crampy... What the fuck?!? DAY 4! This is DAY 4!! SQUELCH. Oh dear God, please don't let me bleed out.
Well, there is no washroom - I've gotta let it run its... no... let's not put that out there. Asking for a lift home, praying that the squelchy feeling is just that, a feeling. Please don't let me bleed all over her mini van seats, please don't let me bleed all over her mini van seats...
"I can get out at the light!" I suggest.
"Oh yeah," I say, opening the door even before we come to the light. "Thanks!"
No problem, just a block and I'll be home. I jog a bit, you know, to get home that much faster... Bad decision. That is a bad decision. I now feel like I've peed my pants except that I know I haven't. 1/4 of a block to go. I glance down. Thank God I am wearing jeans - nothing looks like it has seeped completely through... I lift my arm in a celebratory fist pump... I have spoken too soon. No worries, with the denim, it just looks like I have wet myself. I saunter nonchalantly - I can always take off my spring jacket and wrap it around my waist... Nobody would notice anything because the entire jacket is already red. Why are my upper thighs warm?!? Oh COME ON!!!
By the time I get upstairs to the bathroom and take off my clothes, I look like I've been eviscerated. Oh no, my cotton panties. For the love of... I like these panties! They're hot pink with green and blue ribbon... These are good ass panties. The jeans are even worse - how does one clean blood stains by the linear foot? Now I have to Google whether cold or warm water is best for removing blood stains. Which, if CSIS is monitoring internet questions, could be a red flag... HAH! RED FLAG! I start laughing - the cats give me a look when the laughter takes on a more maniacal edge.
After my impromptu sitz bath, I swaddle myself in a robe, eat popcorn, chocolate and two hotdogs while watching old clips of Britain's Got Talent.
Sniff. Sniff. Damn you Janey Cutler! Damn you, you adorable octogenarian with your adorable Scottish accent, and Piaf-like pipes!! Now I need a tissue along with the ice cream that I will have emergency delivered.