Tuesday, March 01, 2016

Anthropomorphic Addiction

I bought a box of tampons yesterday. I was immediately drawn to them in the store. Unlike most of the feminine hygiene products, which are teal and pink and lumpen (for unknown and surely bizarre reasons - I'm picturing middle-aged men around a table at Unilever looking nervously at a pair of a mistress's undies), they were in a sleek little brushed black box.

I was not disappointed. They are delightful colors, lounging in their little box, rich and bright but not obnoxious. They have this rubber grip usually reserved for ensuring deadly weapons don't slip out of one's hands.

They are, however, a little confusing. I mean, one of the small but universal goals of the modern woman is to keep her tampons concealed. No one wants to reach for a Chapstick and instead brandish a Tampax Pearl in our boss's face.

Lest, you know, the world discover something that happens each month for decades to slightly more than one-half of the population.

So I am confused. These ones are amazing! I want to show them off! A few hours ago, I started chatting to one about avant garde poetry and she lost me in a matter of minutes. Another shared her very interesting views on neo-colonialism.

I'm not sure whether to use the rest of them or invite them to a rave.

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