Well since most of the men have been conspicuously absent from commenting (well, not Joe of the Dutch Oven fame, or Tom, who made a brief comment about veggies being evil before getting the hell out of here) on my last post about flatus, I thought I'd take advantage and ask a question that I've been dying to know.
Since it will prolly be a week or so before any of those guys are brave enough to poke their heads back in here.
You chickas have been really cracking me up!
I grew up with two brothers, so I never had a sister to ask. My parents were somewhat "older" when they adopted us---with me they were 35. Nowadays that's nothing, but when I was growing up, that was almost elderly. They were of a completely different generation than my friend's parents.
My dad was near the bottom rung of 10 kids, my mom was a total afterthought baby herself, so they were basically unattached to their parents' generation as well. They were both practically raised in Victorian households.
When I was about 8 my mom was so uptight with the whole sex thing that she gave us a book called "A Doctor Talks to 6-to-12 Year Olds" and said we could ask her questions later. Privately, one on one. Uh huh. Sure. Nowadays, it's easier to talk to your folks and others about this stuff. Hell who hasn't been on Maury? Back then for me? Not.
When I unexpectedly started my period a few years later, I happened to be at a "Dad" weekend (things had changed dramatically since we got the "book"). Dad was an "old" fart and left it all up to young Trophy Wife #1 to deal with.
She, of course, first ran out and bought me OB tampons, and handed them to me through the bathroom door. I was 11. When I wouldn't come out of the bathroom or stop crying (I didn't know what the heck to DO with them), she ran out to probably the only drugstore on the planet that still carried sanitary pads that had to be hooked into a belt. And bought the belt as well. Totally skipped over the shelf that had the ones that had adhesive and could be stuck into your own panties.
When I got home on Sunday night and told my mom, I got the big tearful "now you're a woman!" speech. Which was actually kind of nice. She bought me the right kind of pads, and a funny kind of cloth cigarette pack holder to carry one in. Oh, and she told me that if I got blood on my panties, or my sheets, or my clothes, that I had to scrub it ALL out in the sink with cold water before putting it in the laundry.
When I think about all the time I spent over those years scrubbing and scrubbing after accidents (like who is regular the first couple of years or so---you usually find out you've started once it's already there? Or what if you roll over in the middle of the night and everything gets bunched up at the front or the back and you leak somewhere?), I started to think my Mom was some evil sadistic menstrual harpy. Really.
Mom was in a natural holistic phase at that point and wouldn't even give me an aspirin for cramps. Now I'm convinced that she was so prissy that she probably threw her own panties and sheets away, bought new ones and scarfed down valium by the bowlful (docs were handing it out like candy in the 70's) but told herself it was theraputic because she had a prescription. Just kidding. Heh. LOL
For those Buffy/Angel fans out there---that episode where Fred was scrubbing and scrubbing Jasmine's sweater until her own hands were bleeding gave me a big "Aiigghghhhh!!" moment. Not pretty.
So anyways, when I became an adult, I was done with all that. Yeah, if I had an accident, I'd do the obligatory soak in cold water, but I'd be damned if I'd futilely scrub and scrub. I'd have a few pairs of panties that had old stains, and instead of wearing pristine ones while on my period, I'd wear the stained ones. Heck, they were already stained, but they were technically clean and otherwise in perfect shape, so what's the big whoop?
That's when I started thinking about them as my Period Pants.
Now other than Hubby (who does his own laundry) the guys and I pretty much throw our dirties down the new laundry chute and do our laundry communally. Except for my Period Pants. I wash them separately with
some of my other stuff, and fold and put them away myself.
Until recently. We've been so busy that I had a load in the dryer when Hubby went to wash some of his own clothes. Sometimes, if there's something in the dryer, he'll bring it up and fold on the ottoman in the living room while we're watching TV as he waits for his own laundry to get done.
So he's pulling all my Period Pants out of the laundry basket (I was in the other room) while they're all watching The Simpsons (I was in the other room JUST to avoid it) and folding them in front of the guys, and they're like---ewwww! Mom!
From the other room, I said "What????"
That's when I saw what Hubby was doing. Gak!
We had to have a big family conversation about how I bitch at them for leaving skid marks in their undies for willfully not wiping their butts good enough, but I'm not being a hypocrite because sometimes I have an accident and these panties are around 4-6 years old. I can't begin to tell you how embarrassing this was.
Tell me, what do the rest of you do with them? Do you have Period Pants?
I swear, I'm just going to start being my mother and throw them away.