FUN WITH FEMININE HYGIENE

Having lived with the fairer sex for most of my life, I am familiar with products that many men prefer not to even think about.
Items that males instinctively avoid, which are too horrible to contemplate.
Most men are too......, errrm....., fastidious.
I accept certain womanly things as natural, not in the slightest "icky" or "gross".
After all, I am not a juvenile, and there is naught about the female of the species that is inherently off-putting.
Well, other than their shopping frenzies.

Women do NOT have cooties.


They do, however, have sanitary pads.


One of my friends, Ralph, during the early years of his marriage was averse to purchasing any feminine hygiene products for his wife. Sure, he would purchase the heavy stuff. The bulk items. Five gallon containers of Coca Cola and Draino. Family-sized bales of toilet paper. Three ply, unscented, 188 rolls. No problem.
He would even gloat about his family's prodigious appetite, and monumental output.
Remarkable, for only two people - the store probably assumed he was shopping for a tribe.

Ralph's wife had to go to the store herself to buy pads.

After he and his wife bought their own home, he discovered the benefit, nay, the blessing even, of sanitary pads.
See, there was a crack in the pipe that fed water into the heater. A slow leak, that deposited drop by drop, till after two or three days there would be a pool a few inches long on the floor boards, starting to smell funky. He tried to fix it, but lacking much technical expertise, nothing worked. So at some point he "borrowed" a sanitary pad from the pack in the bathroom cabinet.
Brilliant!
It just needed replacing every four or five days, and it solved all problems.
No wet spot, no odour, no stain. Perfect fit.
Ralph considered himself a right genius.

In order that his wife would not become aware of the steady depletion of her pad hoard, Ralph took it upon himself to purchase an extra box now and then. Exact same brand, exact same size.
His wife probably did indeed notice - most women are keen counters of their pads, tampons, and other such - but she didn't say anything.
She may have thought he was growing up.
That, too, is a blessing.
Even if it involves pads.


BIG AS A BUCKET


It wasn't until the leak got worse that trouble started. Two pads at a time. Sometimes twice a week.
Ralph finally uttered what are possibly the most dangerous words in any marriage.

"Honey, shouldn't you be using maxi-pads?"

At the very moment he realized the can of worms he was potentially opening up, his wife snapped: "What!?! You now think it's big as a bucket?!?"


There are many directions a conversation can go from there. None of them useful, or flattering in any way to either party.
If pursued, that is a conversational train which will go off a cliff and wreck everything with it

With despair in his eyes, mute and frantic, he dragged her into the utility room and silently pointed out the pads. She realized what he needed the things for, and forgave him the clumsiness of his request.
But she insisted that he buy his own maxi-pads.

So he did.

At the store, the manager (a middle-aged woman) saw that he wasn't buying the same brand anymore and humorously remarked "different size, huh, I guess then these are for you?"


"Well actually, yes they are."


The manager lost it when, in parting, he said "it's big as a bucket."


--- --- --- --- ---


And on that note, I propose that women's sanitary requisites should be sold at the hardware store. Not only would most men have NO problem purchasing or even contemplating such things if they were available in the plumbing department, but they'd likely come up with new and creative uses for them. Absorbent, and soft. Plug a leak, or slip one under furniture legs. Buffer a handle, or buff a cabinet. Use one to apply woodstain, or oil a gasket.
This will inevitably lead to greater peace and harmony in this world.


Perhaps unfortunately, women are also 'creative'.

They too can figure out new uses for familiar things.

So it's a darn good thing that duct tape ain't available in the sanitary aisle.

The day that happens, the world ends.



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