Specifically, I purchased ‘Tampax Pearl’… “In the Blue & Green Box.”
Because THAT Was What SHE Required.
“Good luck. See ya when you get back. Be safe.”
Memphis, circa 2013
This was to be my quest, my only mission quest: to find those and only those specific tampons:
My Search for the…
Holy Grail of Feminine Hygiene Products!
(In the blue and green box? Are you fucking kidding me? I discovered Myriad tampons in blue & green boxes…)
In fact, an entire isle was dedicated to nothingbut Tampons of various brands, all shapes and sizes and quantities and qualities.
Damn Near ALL of which were in blue and green boxes!
Welcome to The Tampon Jungle
Enjoy Your Stay
Fortunately, before embarking upon my Quest, I’d had the presence of mind, using my semi-smart phone, to capture an image of the now empty and defunct ‘pearls’ box.
Yep, I had fetched along a visual aid to guide me in my pursuit of the ‘keeping the little woman happy’ self-preservation project.
I’m real smart in this way.
I attribute this trait to my erstwhile Navy SEAL training:
If your woman is really specific and passionate and matter-of-fact about something, it behooves you to set down your beer and pay close attention.
Don’t be bringin’ home no ‘Magic Beans’ Jack.
You’ll regret that.
***
Mission Accomplished. No apparent casualties.
Now Men, I know what some of you are thinking…
Won’t elaborate, as this is a ‘Family Friendly’ Blog Site.
But I will go even further on the box of The Pearl Tampons.
(‘In The Green Box’—there must be some metaphor to discover there.)
That Box O’Pearls was the only item in my shopping cart, naked those pearls were, all alone.
Ridin’ Solo in a big ol’ shoppin’ cart, just a-sittin’ there,revvin’ their engines..
All by their lonesome.
“I’m so lonesome I could cry”
Did I try to conceal ‘em? Cover ‘em up with some dead red animal flesh, some pound or four of ground beef?
No.
Some Guns & Ammo mags?
No.
Three cases of beer?
No.
A chain saw from the lawn and garden department?
No.
Did I try to repeat the scene from “Summer of Forty Two” with the kid tryin’ to buy condoms? Askin’ for an ice cream cone, sprinkles, and almost every other small thing behind the counter, then…
”Oh, by the way, throw in some rubbers while you’re at it.”
No.
Naw.
Here is the reason:
I am Secure in My Masculinity.
I can purchase tampons for my woman while under the blinding glare of Super Market Lights from which nothing ever goes unnoticed.
No sweat.
No shame.
No fear.
No potential peril to my Manhood.
(I also listen to Joni Mitchell and Janis Ian and I cry at movies, some movies anyway. ‘RoboCop’ comes immediately to mind).
Point is, Guys Git Over It!
Go out and buy a box of tampons for your Lady.
And only a box of tampons.
(And only for your woman—if you don’t have a woman at this moment—just file this handy slice of advice away for future reference)
For the Rest of Y’all, I’ll leave you with this:
The Experience Shall Set You Free.
While simultaneously releasing your ‘Inner-Machismo-Mobility’
Trust me:
No one will dare fuck with a man packin’ tampons.
Credit: MDA Telethon
***
All in all, I’d pronounce this a favorable ‘Mission Outcome.’No Casualties. Minimal Stress. Minimal Potential for PTSD.
Homeward Bound And Happy to Be Bearing The Spoils of War
Happy? Yes ‘Happy’
After all, with just one misstep, things could’ve gone horribly wrong in the Other Direction:
