With that damn string. Pee string is what I call it. I shove that thing inside me too, so the urine doesn’t climb into my cunt. But even with the tuck, it feels urine-y. The whole thing is a soggy mess. I don’t know how girls do this. I’ve been using the Instead Cup for years now. No damn pee string. No toxic shock. And you can leave them in longer. But it’s not perfect either. I bleed heavier now that I have an IUD. My periods are like most women’s now. I was the luckiest S.O.B for forty-two years: two to three day periods, super light, and no cramps. But then I got pregnant and now I have a copper IUD. Cramps suck. And so does bleeding like the newly killed. I’ve had a few murder scenes since the IUD when changing out my cup—hence why I currently have a tampon in my cooch. The cups are too risky when I’m out and about.
[After a layover in Denver]
Holy mother of Christ, I think I’ve screwed myself. I changed my dumb tampon over an hour ago, but I felt like I was leaking, so I went to the loo. But when it was my turn to use the airplane port-o-potty and I dropped trou…no tampon. I dug all up in there, nada. I felt my IUD string, but no wad of cotton soaked in blood, piss and pussy juice. What the fuck? I inserted one, didn’t I? I remember tucking the string and everything. Has my tampon gone rogue?! Is it up in the depths of my soul? This happened to me once when I was fifteen. I had all of my impacted molars taken out at the same time. I kept telling the dentist that I couldn’t feel the gas so they’d pump me full of it, and I took all of the Valium they gave me (god bless the 80’s), I was loopy as fuck. When I woke up the following day, I went to retrieve my tampon and found two up there. I think I might be reliving this event as I scribble. Hmmm, is it possible that I didn’t insert one? Only if I’m ill-remembering the string push.
I hate those sleek plastic applicators. You know why? Because they go up into my puss! I bought the light ones and they’re super skinny. I’m not cavernous, but hell, I’m almost forty-five, I ain’t no virgin either. I practically have to rescue the stupid applicator every time. I miss the cardboard. That shit never silked its way into my vagina. Why must we be treated like little dolls who don’t have sex? I’m thinking (hoping) that the dickhead plasti-ca didn’t actually release said tampon and when I threw it out, it went with. No, that doesn’t make sense surely I would have noticed the string. I’m pretty well sauced, but I’m not that hammered. Fuck, this means that as I sit here on this simultaneously hot and cold plane, I have a T-shaped tampon circus of shit happening in my box. My fingers are pretty long and I was barring down. Where is that fucker? If it’s hiding, it’s now firmly sitting behind its icky brother. Someone please kill me. There was another passenger waiting behind me, so I was scarce for time, knowing I was being judged on the other side of the faux door. I had prewashed my hands before I went digging, the clock was ticking—nothing quite like a panicked finger-bang in a bent over position in an airplane bathroom. The pressure got to me and I did what any person who hates people waiting for them would do…I shoved a new tampon up there. Opioids and Tampax do not mix. When I land in Dayton, I’ll find a far away stall and go to town on my snatch. One of my biggest fears is the lost tampon: fermenting and growing tiny cotton children. It’s the stuff of nightmares and legends.