Hallo!

Vicki from Southampton wrote in a post earlier that she would never eat leftovers as they are ‘rank’! I totally wondered why this would be. Leftovers are not rank! They are an amazing and wonderful thing to have in your fridge. So I investigated further and found out that the reason leftovers are ‘rank’ for Vicki, is that oven chips and Chicken Kiev doesn’t keep well in a fridge. At this point, I nodded. I wondered whether to message her as I thought this was a good one for a blog post, like what keeps well in a fridge, but I feel Vicki probably hasn’t got time for that sort of convo. It’s  a shame because the only other thing I had to talk about apart from that, was the general knowledge stuff on the back of the Kotex wrappers.

These gems of wisdom are stuck on the back of the sanitary pad, you know, on the strip bit you pull off for the sticky. Like they must think it’s nice to have something to read in the toilet. I’ve read a few last week as I bled to death, #fuckyouperimenopause, and I have found out that the White House has 34 rooms, baby mice have skin that is so transparent that you can see the milk under the skin as they suckle, and that by the time you’re 64 you have lost half of your taste buds. This totally entertains me – not. They should get me to write them. I could write much more interesting shit than that, like the fact that so many girls and women don’t have access to sanitary protection.

• Women and girls in refugee camps. It’s very distressing for these women and has far-reaching effects. It can also put them in danger when trying to deal with menstruation in unsafe places.
• Girls in school worldwide – They can miss days of school every month.
• Homeless women.
• People living in poverty and whose parents or carers can’t afford to buy sanitary products.
• Women who have no access or simply can’t afford it.
• Indigenous community unable to afford up to $10 for a packet of pads. Yeah, you read that right $10. I could totally talk more about remote communities and the price of groceries etc….

I could go on. It’s something worth thinking about.

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Sanitary pads do crack me up because of that part in ‘ Lucky’ by Alice Sebold. I really love this bit because it’s hilarious, but it’s also in a book about rape. Her own rape when she was in college. It’s a really great book and I love the way she writes with candour and wit.

‘You save yourself or you remain unsaved’.

Amen sista.

You should read it.

Hours and hours of “finding ways to occupy myself” gave way to hatching plots. The bassetts were often my unwitting assistants. Like all dogs, they nosed through the trash and under beds. They carried away trophies: smelly clothes, used socks, unattended food containers, and whatnot. the more they loved it, the harder they fought to keep it, and the thing they loved the most, with an animal passion that makes sense of the phrase, was my mothers discarded maxi pads. Bassett hounds and maxi pads are a love marriage complete. No one could tell Feijoo and Belle that a particular item was not meant for them.They were wedded to it.

And, oh the scene, the lovely scene. it wasn’t a one person or two person job, it was the whole thundering house. The ‘horror’ of it made my father hysterical and my mother adamant that he got involved in the chase.The sheer thought of it was obsene! Maxi pads! The bassetts and I were happy because it meant that everyone came out of their rooms to jump and scream.

We chased them round and round from front hall, back through the family room, kitchen, dining room and living room. The bassett assisting – the one sans maxi pad – would bark and bark and cut us off at the pass when we attempted to make a lunge for the lucky one. We got smarter in our tactics, tried to block them with doors or corral them in the corner of a room. But they were wily and had a clandestine assistant. 

I let them get by. I false lunged. I gave my parents and sister misdirection. “Back, back hall!” I would yell and three hysterical people would run that way. Meanwhile, the bassetts were happily hiding with their snare underneath the table in the dining room. 

Eventually, I took matters into my own hands and when my mother stepped downstairs to the kitchen or was reading outside on the porch, I would lead the most available bassett into her bedroom and turn my back. Within minutes: “Bud, Feijoo’s got a kotex!”

“For Christs sakes!”

“Mom,” I’d say helpfully, “he’s tearing it up!” Doors burst open, footsteps on stairs and rug. Screaming, barking, raucous, joyous scene.

Alice Sebold. Lucky.

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Images: Vector Illustrations

Loveage,

Edie xoxoxo