Use code LOVE for 15% off your order!

It was a wonderful sunny day in my Catholic High School. It was Friday, which was special because we were allowed to wear jeans instead of the regular horrible khaki pleated skirt. As I’ve established before, I don’t track my period. So whenever I’ve gone an extended period of time without it, I start to get a little anxious, possibly a little paranoid that any odd feeling is me starting my period.  And on that particular day I had been feeling especially paranoid, but as one does I brushed it off. I went about my day, had lunch, started my religion class all while living my best life. As a little context, this religion class was rather stupid. It was church history, which meant that my old decrepit white male teacher was preaching about old decrepit dead white men. Naturally I was bored and I decided to pass the time by going pee. So I went to the nearest bathroom, which was actually not close at all, in an entirely different building. I took off my pants to go to the bathroom and that is when I realized that that paranoid feeling I had had all day wasn’t actually paranoid after all. There was a literal sea of blood in my pants. There had been a small massacre. Some sort of tragedy had struck inside of my underwear. 

Woefully underprepared for any of this, I didn’t have a pad on me so I stuffed a ridiculous amount of toilet paper into my pants. I remembered that there is a little box filled with period products funded by the school in every bathroom. However, clearly those funds had run out because, when I went to check it, it was empty. I tried two bathrooms with the same bleak result. At this point I had no choice but to go back to class because too much time had passed. My plan was to grab a pad from my backpack, wait until we were busy with work, and leave for the bathroom again. Excellent plan, right? Wrong, because that day we were watching a movie. 

I walked back into a completely silent class, all eyes on me. There was no reasonable escape. I must mention that classes were an hour and a half long so I couldn’t just wait for the class to be over. And with each consecutive second the horror in my underwear was getting worse. I sat at my desk for an absorbent amount of time simply waiting for a good moment to ask the teacher to go to the bathroom again where people wouldn’t hear or see me. 10 minutes passed. Then 20. And then 30. It was at this moment that I realized the day was all for nought and I needed to get the fuck out. So I gathered my bags, told the teacher I was sick, and booked it out of the classroom. 

Now I couldn’t leave school without consent from a guardian and a valid excuse. So as soon as I left that classroom, I called my mom, at the risk of getting in trouble for using a phone, to explain to her how she had to lie to the office people for me. And it was at that moment that I ran into my teacher for the next class I had. I proceeded to have a five minute long conversation with her filled to the brim with utter lies. I was on the verge of death, I needed to get home right away, I was just so horribly sick I couldn’t concentrate in class. Literally spewing nonsense so she would let me leave. This woman terrified me by the way, but the surmounting emergency in my pants terrified me more. Finally she released me and after a pit stop at the office, I was on my way home. Underwear destroyed, pants ruined, ego bruised. 

I wish I could say I learned my lesson, but I'm a stubborn idiot who likes surprises, even when those surprises end up destroying a very nice pair of jeans. Don’t be like me, track your period. 

With Love - Tay