IONA Magazine

As usual, my period started without warning . . .

At an early age, my mother sat me down and explained that--at a certain special time-- all women bleed. She’d mentioned the monthly ‘visits’, cramps, and the unique absorbent equipment needed to deal with such matters. “It’s natural,” she said. “So, you’d just better get used to it.” I was eighteen at the time. By then I had pretty much figured out that it was unnatural for most humans to live after bleeding for more than three days. Still, I had a system in place to deal with this. Tampons for light days, maxi-pads for medium days, and bunched up toilet paper when I ran out of options. “There will be ‘accidents’”, she warned. “But don’t be embarrassed about it. That’s natural too, and it happens to everybody.” Natural or not, I hated menstruating. I hated everything about the whole bloody ordeal, including taking a seat in a movie theatre, only to plunk down in a puddle of some other woman’s natural mess. Sure, that may have been an accident, but she could have at least put a sign or a napkin on the chair to warn me.

It was a nice day in San Mateo, and Bill and I were having dinner with his colleagues. They were all lawyers, and spent a great deal reading the fine print on the menu. Everyone had ordered their meals, and then Bill’s colleagues began to cross examine me. This was the perfect moment to use the bathroom. I didn’t really have to go. The plan was to fix my make-up and maybe call for help. As I stood from the table, a stream of warm liquid trickled down my legs. Panic set in, and I quickly sat down, pretending that I was riveted by the conversation. The chair, and my dress is wet. I’m afraid to look. A wet chair can only mean one of two things; both equally embarrassing for a grown woman. If you’re six years old and you wet yourself, you could probably explain it away with monsters, or a bad dream. If you’re nearly forty years old, and wide awake, your only option is vampires-- and no one will believe you, even if it’s true.

As usual, my period started without warning. It made its debut in a gooey, slippery, puddle just as the drinks arrived. I thought about spilling a glass of red wine on my dress and blaming it on the waiter. Bill’s a lawyer, the type who would surely investigate, and the nasty truth would eventually surface. So, I just sat there--bleeding silently. Bill and I had been dating for about four months, and he was still under the impression that I didn’t have any periods. I refused to have sex with him when that ‘special’ time came. Armed with an impressive list of excuses, I say, “Sorry, honey. I just had surgery.” Or, “Oh, Bill, not tonight. I’m flying to Timbuktu in the morning. Back in a few weeks, baby!” Sex during menstrual cycles was always out of the question. It was just too embarrassing and nasty.

During the course of dinner, I tried to come up with a lie--one even a table full of lawyers would believe. I didn’t feel comfortable asking Bill to put his dinner jacket over my seat and ask the nice lady at the other table for a tampon. What were my options? Dinner came to an end, and everyone stood up to shake hands and say goodbye. Bill and his colleagues were too absorbed in their legal talk to notice the massive puddle. I ignored the stares from the waiters and other diners, and left a warning for the next girl. I left my napkin on the chair.

Tell me your dating story, great, good or bad, I want to hear your thoughts.

Until Next Time!

~Gwendolyn~



About Gwendolyn:
Eight years ago, Gwendolyn Barney gave up a fabulous apartment in Baltimore, Maryland, (filled with some very nice furniture and electronic toys) and a successful career as a multi-media producer in order to experience Europe, live out of a suitcase and have some adventures. She is currently a web 2.0 Designer and writer, living in Portland, Oregon.