Anti-Insertion of the Girl Gash Kind

WARNING: If you are male and inwardly shudder when thinking of all things menstrual or if you are easily offended then skip this entry regarding vaginal vulgarity.


All right.


Not a subject I’ve ever really liked talking about but this I found amusing.

Greek women are not encouraged to put anything into their snatch. Hence the supposed vast population of “virgin” girls who only have anal sex so they can be worthy of a white dress while walking awkwardly down the aisle.

So, when I had the female matter to deal with I went to the store. What did I find? The very environmental, cardboard/plastic tube inserter free so you have to use your finger, DIY OB brand. Please note the photo: a wall of pads but only SIX boxes of cotton on a leash. A trip to other markets and pharmacies fared no better.

Panic began to set in.

Praying to the cotton gods, I drove like a menstrual maniac to the 711 sized store on the Navy Base.

That shelf held two boxes of tampons. Scented tampons.

Who the hell wants perfume up there? Isn’t it sensitive enough without faux flower chemicals?

A debate began: OB vs No-one-better-ask-what-new-scent-I’m-wearing-thinking-they-can-sniff-my-wrist-to-get-a-better-whiff.

Back at the abode, cotton devices in hand, the laptop was booting up while I attended my girl bits. A few moments online I discovered I can purchase what I need and have it shipped. Ovary crisis averted for next time, I entered my bedroom and doused myself in designer perfume hoping it would not clash with the floral eau-de-twat-lette.



I believe that if men menstruated most would run to the emergency room every month, “Oh no! My abdomen is killing me! I'm bleeding! I’m gonna die!” Wussies. A nurse would hand them some cotton and say, “Either shove it in your underwear or your dick. You’ll live.”