All women have their good underwear, just as we all have some shameful, thinning, ripped-up underwear tucked away for our periods. I have ruined my best jeans, my best vintage sundress, a couch (it was mine), sheets, and my good underwear. Mine comes every 28 days, but somehow, always when I least expect it. If you haven’t guessed, I want to talk about periods. (Can we fix this? No one is carrying change.) I actually had an incident care of one: It was at Six Flags Magic Mountain, in the late ’90s, after a water ride, and I was in a bodysuit. Occasionally, they will have those old-fashioned vending machines with pads the size of a toddler’s diaper. You know those pre-COVID times when a stranger would hand you a tampon or a wad of toilet paper under the stall door? Women’s bathrooms are a sacred space where we stop judging, hand each other tissues, compliment one another, and cry. It’s been so long since we ladies have been able to share intimate bathroom moments, I am sort of craving them.
The author in her Period Company underwear.
