I don’t care how many years one has been purchasing the wide array of feminine hygiene products, the purchase never really comfortable.
Tampons. Buying in bulk.
Socks?
COMFORTABLE.
Yoga pants?
COMFORTABLE
Plopping a box of tampons on the conveyor belt?
NOT COMFORTABLE
I am not afraid to purchase the needed items, but I cannot think of a time I have bought the necessaries where I haven’t looked for a checker-chick.
It’s a bonding thing.
It’s that, “I got choo, gurl…” thing. It’s unspoken. But it’s there.
Secondlyandwhosoever -in this economy – I have become keeeeeenly aware of how expensive these necessities are.
NECESSITIES.
You can go without candy. You can go without wine.
If we lived in the Biblical days, we’d pack a few things and go outside the city gates to live in a tent for a week.
We don’t get that luxury today.
No tent outside the city for the modern woman. Nope.
BUT COULD YOU IMAGINE.
I typically don’t long for a time wher..e there was no electricity, however.
I digress.
What I’m saying is — this economy + coupon for tampons at grocery warehouse + 2 box limit = I want a female checker with her “I got you, girl…” eyes.
Instead, I am put in the awkward position of nervously making conversation about the economy and how awesome coupons are and the value of buying two 84 count boxes of tampons in bulk… and whathavyou.
Reminds me of that one time shortly after I gave birth to my first kid…
I needed “supplies”.
Loads of them.
It was like Armageddon but for the nether region. I was ill-prepared for the reality of post-birth care and recovery.
Aaaanywho.
I loaded up a cart of things that I felt would best behoove a woman in my bloody postpartum state.
I unloaded enough “supplies” onto the check-out counter conveyor. I perceived there was enough on that counter to clean up the oil spill of the Exxon Valdez back in ’89.
I also had a 24 pack of coke. And candy bars.
I had one check stand option. Run by a checker-dude.
I just kept my head down the entire transaction.
I don’t think he saw my tears.
I didn’t even scream as afterbirth contractions riddled my new-mommy body.
I remember crawling into my car, tearing open a candy bar and weeping… from pain, embarrassment… and pure exhaustion.
But that is another story.
