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Speaking of CootiesMay 21, 2006 . . . and jobs that return to the nest when they were supposed to be fledged -- "paroled for marginally acceptable behavior" is probably the better image -- my period came back. Not that I thought it was really gone for good, but the last one, in mid-March, was barely worth mentioning, and the one before that was in mid-January and seemed a little lighter than usual. That was when I started keeping track. I thought the previous one had been before Thanksgiving, but I wasn't sure. I've always been regularly irregular, but going almost 60 days without a bleed was cause for hope. Ever since I passed my 54th birthday without a serious bodily sign to the contrary, I've been wondering if menopause had forgotten about me. Maybe I was destined to be the Woman Who Never Stopped Bleeding. If I'm going to be a medical marvel, I'd rather it be for falling off ladders without breaking any bones. (Or having a skull that survived a direct hit from one end of a falling board a few days ago. We won't go into that.) So yesterday was a typical Day 2: stash tampons in backpack, glove compartment, and anywhere else they might be needed; plan activities so that I'm never too far from a discreet place to change; pay closer-than-usual attention to bodily gurgles. Most days I spend several hours outside with no plumbing handy. The horses make do without; so do horsegirls. At a horse show a couple of years ago I fell to discussing this with a horsewoman who's the mother of two horsegirl teenagers. We'd all devised pretty much the same plan, involving the periodic equivalent of the barf bag that used to be included in the pocket in front of each airplane seat (maybe still is -- I'll find out on Thursday). Like most girls of my generation, I started out with "sanitary napkins." (If you're around my age, how long did it take you to figure out what those ads featuring sunny young women in white pants or dresses and promising "no belt, no pins, no pads, no odor" were about?) The moment of truth came several years later, the first time my period coincided with a horse show. No way. I marched into the pharmacy, bought my first box of Tampax (fearing all the while that the cashier was going to demand a note from my mother), and figured out how to use them. Never looked back. Come the real revolution, tampons will be free or close to it, and the local stores will stock them in boxes of more than 20. (This has perplexed me for several years: boxes of 40 used to be easy to find. Maybe those who do the ordering are guys who don't know what they're used for?) Absent a revolution -- well, one of these days I'll buy my last box of tampons, although it may be a few months before I realize it's my last box of tampons, and declare my independence of the industry that produces them. Can't wait!
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