Oh, the memories I... Remember....

I am of the opinion that every female, admitted or not, has a stash of highly embarrassing and or awkward monthly visitor stories.  You know what I'm talking about.  The 'dot' as I used to call it.  Period.  Yep.  I said it.  If this is a TMI moment for you, I want to let you know that this is the part where you exit this post.  Because I plan to elaborate on past and recent happenings revolving around that very subject.  If this impending horror terrifies you, turn back now, my friend.  I fear that if you don't turn back immediately, the fluidity of my writing skills will have you trapped before you can say "that's just weird" and you will have no choice but to continue on in forced indulgence of the hilarity and awkwardness that will ensue.... now.

First, you may wonder what on earth is bringing this to my mind.  Well, for one, one story is from today.  And for two, just because I'm a woman.  And women are random and unpredictable.

Back when I was a youngin', I distinctly remember a certain visit to the doctors office.  Not so much what it was for.  I just remember having to pee in that stupid water-colored dixie cup.  You know, the kind that seems like it's not even fit to hold four drops of liquid without sustaining considerable damage.  And they expect many a person to pee in said cup.  Well, I also remember my little monthly friend decided to accompany me to the doctors office.  So considerate, really.  I guess.

Well, I made that dixie cup work.  Put my business in the little cupboard and waited to hear the other side open.  I always pictured the nurses gathering around, laughing maniacally at the little dixie cup.  It made me self conscious.  Didn't they know that urine is no laughing matter?  Anyway, I digress.

I remember walking out of the bathroom.  I hated that part.  Let's face it.  When you walk out of a doctors office potty room,  EVERYBODY knows your business.  Then you have to take the walk of shame past every single open door back to your room which is always the last door on the left.  You can almost hear the laughter and the accusing whispers.  

Sadly enough, my walk of shame was actually cut short.  This frantic little old lady came running out of the pee-observing room with a terrified look on her face.  She deduced that I must have been the owner of the tainted subject she had obviously just observed.  Must've been the guilty look on my face.  Or the fact that I was just exiting the potty room.  She shuffled up to me and looked me in the eye.

"Are you menstruating???"  I had to think about it for a minute.

My first instinct of course, was to tell her it was none of her business.  But then I realized that I pretty much handed it over in a dixie cup.  So I guess it was.

"... Yes?"  I remember it sounding like a question.  Like I was afraid I'd be in trouble.  

(When I read this part of the story to my husband, he became defensive. 'She was probably just concerned.  If you weren't on your period, you could've been really sick.')

She sighed and turned back into the pee laboratory.  Now that I think about it, I was pretty inconsiderate.  Should've replied with a "Yes, thank you for asking!" or perhaps, "Why yes, and yourself?" 

And now the reason for the memories.  I have another story of the more embarrassing variety.  Perhaps awkward, too.  But mostly embarrassing because it was my doing.

I get sick on when my monthly friend visits.  Usually I like company.  But in this case, I rather sleep on the bathroom floor.  

Chad asked me if I'd like to go to devotional today. Sounded nice.  He'd pick me up.  Life would be good.  

I got a text message from him saying, "Do you want to meet on campus?"  and this simply wouldn't do.  I replied with a hasty, "What? Huh? Meet where? For what? I'm sick and hot and I feel gross and I'm still on my period."  Only after I sent said message, did I notice it wasn't Chad at all.

It was someone interested in buying clothes I'd put up for sale.  I quickly messaged back and attempted to explain the situation.  She was a good sport.  She hasn't expressed anymore interest in clothes though..

So, everyone. The moral of the story is, our monthly friend is the kind of unwanted company that we laugh about later.  Like the friend of a friend that your friend wants you to be best friend with.  Or like wrecking a car.  "You'll laugh about it later."

Only the car part isn't funny.

Does anybody else have these kinds of stories?  Feel free to share.  If you laugh about it, we should all laugh about it.  I like laughing.

Ha.

The car still isn't funny.