Period

I remember dreading going to the bathroom in junior high school. Every time I went in there, a gaggle of girls were discussing the new inductee to womanhood. Someone had gotten their first period, and it was never me. The term “Late Bloomer” did not comfort me and I thought not having my period was the most embarrassing thing in the world.

15+ years since Flo started coming to town I’ve realized there are many things about your period that seem embarrassing. From realizing that your mother was actually going to tell everyone she knew that it had finally happened to giving a presentation in a corporate board room, and getting that “warning drip” indicating your tampon is about to fail. You need to be able to professionally exit the room without shifting in your facial muscles or causing any kind of awkward commotion.

Which leads me to one of my most embarrassing memories of yet. First some context…I work at a software company. It’s almost all men. One day, 45 minutes after returning to my desk from changing my tampon I left with the Vice President of Engineering to walk to the cafeteria in an adjacent building. It’s a beautiful day and I’m wearing khaki pants and a blue shirt. Then it happens. I notice a small drip as we are crossing the street. There is no bathroom in the immediate vicinity so I hope it’s a onetime abnormality. Not pleasant, but I wouldn’t be the first woman to proceed with her day with a drop of blood in her underwear….A few steps latter…a much larger drip. Pending crisis sirens went off in my head. I awkwardly excused myself and tried walking with my legs squeezed together from the knees up, praying to the god I don’t normally believe in for the gushing to slow down in time to recover from the situation. No luck. By the time I reached the bathroom my pants were covered in blood almost to my knees…and I’m tall. I took them off and pulled out the tampon to reveal unsaturated cotton coated by a blood clot, which I have been told by doctors is not abnormal from time to time. Lovely. I started to contemplate my escape plan. I tried washing my pants in the sink to no avail. And now to top it off I have wet pants and no electric hand dryer in the room. A woman from my office that I barely know walks in and freezes seeing tiny splashes of pink water on the tan granite countertop and a tall blond woman standing there in her stained underwear. After a moment of shock, her face softened and a look of recognition to came over as she said “You poor thing”. She was able to retrieve my sweater at my desk and I exited the situation gracefully…okay I was already way beyond graceful, but at least I was able to leave the bathroom during business hours.

I guess it’s comforting that all of these stories that were once so embarrassing to me are now just funny stories. Thank goodness for being able to mature past that. Or maybe I’ve gained perspective knowing that one day I will feel what it feels like to have this cycle come to an end…and I think that will be more intense of an experience than all the others. Being woman is interesting. I'm going to try my best not to be embarrassed by it. I hope future generations find it easier.

My Ford Escort

For 10 years I proudly drove my Ford Escort, and to be perfectly frank, sometimes it was a struggle to hold my head high. I trust you are aware that this is not considered a "status" car. Friends, colleagues, and strangers alike have reveled in lecturing me for continuing to drive her. "What do you think you are saying about yourself driving that?"…"You deserve better"…"You'll be taken more seriously"…”Isn’t it time you get a real car?”…. "You should treat yourself"…"You'll be more successful at work if you drive something better."…."That isn't a car, it's a toy"…and my very favorite "Aren't you embarrassed to be driving this?"...um no....I find it strange that driving a car that gets 30+ mpg for 10 years reads as immature while spending an exorbitant amount on something that wastes energy is considered responsible. I guess that is corporate america for you.

I first got my Escort in 1998 after moving to DC. I made the typical mistake of moving far from work in order to afford a nice apartment. It would only mean commuting 100 miles a day. Easy Peasy. Except it wasn’t. I cried regularly during my morning commutes because I could not believe that this was the adult world. Almost everyone I knew had similar commutes and they all seemed to be handing it better. They bought cars they "loved" and "enjoyed being in". I admit that I sometimes buy into conspiracy theories, but obviously there is serious brain washing in play if you think you enjoy commuting 100 miles every day! The “ultimate driving experience” is getting out of the car, and if you’re experiencing “sheer driving pleasure” I suspect your car must be vibrating more than mine.