By the time a woman reaches menopause, she has collected a lot of experience (way too much experience) with all manner of feminine protection. (And by feminine protection, I don't mean tae kwon do.)
You know the kinds of things I'm talking about: sanitary napkins, tampons, panty liners. Grocery stores and drug stores devote aisle after aisle to such products. They are all couched in generic language such as "feminine products" or "health aids." The trick is finding the right "product" or "aid" for you.
By the time I reached the panty liner end of the aisle in my shopping, I was not only confused. I was pissed. To use a menopausal word, I was de-pissed. Why did manufacturers decide that we needed wings on our panty liners? I always thought the point was to have the darn things stay put, not fly about with abandon.
Once I'd reached menopause, I'd (naively) thought that I was past trying to figure out the whole thing. No such luck.
Now I need panty liners for a whole new purpose. (That nasty leakage thing.) Once again, I'm faced with the decision making process.
Fortunately, my decision was made for me when the Universe placed a sign in front of me: I saw a panty liner winging its way past., beckoning me to buy her.
I personally don't like wings. They curl back over, with just enough sticky left to them to. . . . The memory is too painful.
ReplyDelete