**Warning: Post likely not suitable for anyone. My apologies.**
There I was, sitting on my enormous, too-big-for-the-space, oversized, overstuffed, brand new, baby sh!t brown, monstrosity of a sectional couch (can you tell I just absolutely loathe, er love it) (and no, I’m not showing you pictures of it. Yet.) minding my own business, knitting, while the kids were all sprawled out beside me zoning out on inappropriate television programming.
A commercial started and that is when things got a little hairy.
It was one of those flowery, women-power, ‘I am menstruating, hear me roar‘ type of commercials. You know the ones. All the chicks are wearing white and twirling about gushing (heh) about how wonderful it is to be a woman. Commercials clearly made by men who have never had human contact with any female during her special time of the month.
Generally I’m pretty quick with the remote to mute any commercial madness. I’ll happily sit through the annoying sounds of kids programs and cartoon soundtracks but for those three-minute commercial breaks I am a volume control ninja. Silence is golden. My children are trained to automatically mute the television whenever a commercial pops up. However, this particular night the remote was hidden in one of the cracks of our monstrously obese couch and none of us could locate the darn thing quick enough to silence the sounds of capitalistic commercialism oozing out the television speakers.
My son stared transfixed at the screen while my daughter Fric ripped through the cushions to muffle the shame of feminine hygiene being crammed down our throats. Just as the commercial ended she found the remote and pressed the mute button.
It was too late. My 13-year-old son saw it all.
And for the first time in his young life, he had questions. A culmination of school bus enlightenment combined with a few sex education classes caused the little gears in his man-child brain to turn and he needed help fitting the jigsaw pieces together.
“Mom. Does menstruation mean what I think it means?”
I looked at him, then at my daughter who was suddenly very busy studying the remote control and I sighed. It had come to this. The moment I had for so long tried to avoid with him. I’ve had the female reproduction talk at great length but only ever with my daughter because apparently discussing female gender issues in front of her younger brother would have caused her to die of mortification and fall into a black hole of doom.
If I was giving out Hormone Goddess awards…this woman would win hands down…