I thought my period was over. But it wasn’t. Which I was suspicious of sitting in the office chair and was sure of when I went to the bathroom to find blood soaked through my underwear and my light wash jeans. I cleaned up the best I could and used a wad of toilet paper to hold me over until I could get a tampon. (And, it’s like, yes I should have learned by now but I haven’t.) Then I went back to the office to check on the cloth chair I had been siting in. It was fine. And that was very lucky.
It was the end of my workday and I was supposed to hang out with a friend. Home was not on the way and not even kind of close so I stopped at a nearby CVS where I bought a box of tampons which I told myself that I needed anyway. Then I went to a Chipotle where the bathroom required a passcode but luckily it was occupied so I waited and when he came out I slipped in. I was relieved to finally be in a single person bathroom with a sink and a toilet accessible at the same time. I cleaned my jeans under the sink and dried them with the hand-drier that sounds like an airplane taking off but is amazing; I watched the fabric dry right before my eyes. Then I put my jeans back on, looked at myself in the mirror, took a deep breath, grabbed my belongings–a helmet, backpack, keys, phone, and stepped outside.
As I rode my bike downtown I thought about how the whole thing went quite smoothly considering the circumstances. And then I realized: I left the mostly full, brand new box of tampons in the Chipotle bathroom. It was a nice box of tampons. I buy nice tampons. So I turned back for it, but when I got there it was gone.
Anne Foster 