So, you might not want to read the three posts below this. They're about tampons. They're not explicitly gross or anything, just thought I'd give you some warning in case this sort of thing makes you squirm...
In other news, life is good. It was wonderful to come home for a proper English Christmas, but leaving L.A. did make me realize that there are some good things about this place that I would miss if I left.
Don't worry, I'm not turning to the darkside or anything. London is still infinitely superior in every way. I just don't completely hate it here anymore...
Give it another year and i'll be blonde and botoxed and whitening my teeth.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
THREE TALES OF TAMPONS - ONE
A few weeks ago, I accidentally bought a large pack of scented tampons. Theses things happen – you’re in the supermarket, it’s that time of the month, and you grab the first pack of tampons you see without really studying the small-print. I mean, tampons are tampons. How different can they really be?
It’s not that the scented tampons smelt bad or anything. They smelt mainly like a medium-priced floral airfreshner; perfectly pleasant but basically bland. But why? Why perfume tampons? I try to imagine the Research&Development meeting which came up with this idea: “hey, folks, there seems to be a heck of a lot of tampons on the market – how are we gonna differentiate ours?"
They probably ran over all the existing varieties, applicator v non, organic v non. Did they discuss making different colored tampons and decide that was a stupid plan? Did they scratch their heads, the people in this meeting, and say “women need tampons. Women like perfume…dear god I’ve got it!”. Is this all a hideous joke being perpetrated on the American public? Why oh why would anyone think that there was any point scenting an item that is to be placed inside the body?
I mean, where does the company go from here? Will we soon have flavoured tampons too? And will I be stupid enough to buy them?
It’s not that the scented tampons smelt bad or anything. They smelt mainly like a medium-priced floral airfreshner; perfectly pleasant but basically bland. But why? Why perfume tampons? I try to imagine the Research&Development meeting which came up with this idea: “hey, folks, there seems to be a heck of a lot of tampons on the market – how are we gonna differentiate ours?"
They probably ran over all the existing varieties, applicator v non, organic v non. Did they discuss making different colored tampons and decide that was a stupid plan? Did they scratch their heads, the people in this meeting, and say “women need tampons. Women like perfume…dear god I’ve got it!”. Is this all a hideous joke being perpetrated on the American public? Why oh why would anyone think that there was any point scenting an item that is to be placed inside the body?
I mean, where does the company go from here? Will we soon have flavoured tampons too? And will I be stupid enough to buy them?
Two
A year after it came to our (and our landladies) attention that our heating system was giving us carbon-monoxide poisoning, she finally called a man to install a new heater for us. Unfortunately for us, our landlady is very, very cheap, and the installation process was rather more protracted and messy than would normally be the case. Our entire apartment was coated in plaster.
So, we called in Isabelle the cleaner. Isabelle is an amazingly quick and efficient cleaner and, as such, she terrifies us. She refuses to work unless you provide her with exactly the right brand and variety of cleaning products. Only purple windex is good enough for Isabelle, and floor cleaner must be pine-scented or she will not clean. During the early days of life with Isabelle, we questioned whether perhaps we, the clients, should get to have a say in the scent of our floor. We soon learned not to argue. She is the professional, and we are ignorant in the ways of cleaning.
Isabelle doesn’t just clean. She likes to rearrange. Usually her rearrangements of furniture are genius – she moves things to logical places that saves space or are aesthetically pleasing in ways you never would have imagined. Sometimes you have to spend a good half hour after she’s been round searching for, say, the George Forman grill or your favourite blanket, but it’s worth it when you discover she’s moved these items to the perfect place.
Isabelle did a great job cleaning the dust and debris caused by the heater installation. The only problem I have is that, two months on, I am still unable to locate my tampon supply. They had been stored in a box next to the toilet, which I thought was a fairly sensible location for them. Clearly Isabelle disagreed. Maybe she didn’t like them being on display. I checked the bathroom cabinets first, then my bedside drawers, then my closet. I have now worked my way through the whole house searching for the missing tampons. I know I can easily buy some more, but dammit I’m intrigued. Where could she have moved them too? She always puts things in such great places, that I really want to know where she thinks I should keep my sanitary protection.
The only conclusion I can draw is that Isabelle does not approve of tampons and threw them away in some seething, silent disgust. I’ll let you know if I ever find them.
So, we called in Isabelle the cleaner. Isabelle is an amazingly quick and efficient cleaner and, as such, she terrifies us. She refuses to work unless you provide her with exactly the right brand and variety of cleaning products. Only purple windex is good enough for Isabelle, and floor cleaner must be pine-scented or she will not clean. During the early days of life with Isabelle, we questioned whether perhaps we, the clients, should get to have a say in the scent of our floor. We soon learned not to argue. She is the professional, and we are ignorant in the ways of cleaning.
Isabelle doesn’t just clean. She likes to rearrange. Usually her rearrangements of furniture are genius – she moves things to logical places that saves space or are aesthetically pleasing in ways you never would have imagined. Sometimes you have to spend a good half hour after she’s been round searching for, say, the George Forman grill or your favourite blanket, but it’s worth it when you discover she’s moved these items to the perfect place.
Isabelle did a great job cleaning the dust and debris caused by the heater installation. The only problem I have is that, two months on, I am still unable to locate my tampon supply. They had been stored in a box next to the toilet, which I thought was a fairly sensible location for them. Clearly Isabelle disagreed. Maybe she didn’t like them being on display. I checked the bathroom cabinets first, then my bedside drawers, then my closet. I have now worked my way through the whole house searching for the missing tampons. I know I can easily buy some more, but dammit I’m intrigued. Where could she have moved them too? She always puts things in such great places, that I really want to know where she thinks I should keep my sanitary protection.
The only conclusion I can draw is that Isabelle does not approve of tampons and threw them away in some seething, silent disgust. I’ll let you know if I ever find them.
Three
Five years ago (ah, how rapidly time is passing in my old age) I spent six months working in Central America. A month of this time was spent learning (or, more accurately, failing to learn) Spanish in Guatemala. During this time, pretty much everyone I met was robbed. Some of these occurrences were more distressing then others. Nikki had her camera stolen from the bedroom of her homestay. Luckily, she had just enough money to buy another. Unluckily, she has not learnt from her earlier experience, and this camera lasted three days before being stolen. Some people had their passports taken when their bags were slashed. Others returned from a swim to discover that their picnic lunches had mysteriously vanished. We learnt to viciously guard anything that could be conceived as having any value at all.
My turn to be robbed came when I spent a weekend away from language school with my boyfriend in a romantic lakeside hotel. It was a cheap hotel, but there were locks on the doors, so we thought we’d probably be okay leaving stuff in the room. Coming back after dinner, we discovered we were wrong. The door had been smashed in, and the contents of our backpacks were strewn all over the room.
Fortunately, we had taken our passports and money out with us and, as we searched through the debris, we realized that the robbers hadn’t been able to find much of value. A few books had been taken, and the batteries out of my walkman (although, oddly not the walkman itself – clearly too old and crappy even for a Guatemalan thief to bother with). The only other thing missing was, you guessed it, my tampons.
Who would steal tampons but leave a walkman, we wondered. All we could postulate was that perhaps “western” tampons were hard to come across in this part of Guatemala, and could be hawked on the street (along with batteries) to passing tourists. That must be it, we decided as we got into bed. I plumped up my pillows and discovered that there, tucked deep inside the pillowcase of the bottom pillow, were my missing tampons.
This remains one of the great, unexplained mysteries of my life. Any ideas, please let me know.
My turn to be robbed came when I spent a weekend away from language school with my boyfriend in a romantic lakeside hotel. It was a cheap hotel, but there were locks on the doors, so we thought we’d probably be okay leaving stuff in the room. Coming back after dinner, we discovered we were wrong. The door had been smashed in, and the contents of our backpacks were strewn all over the room.
Fortunately, we had taken our passports and money out with us and, as we searched through the debris, we realized that the robbers hadn’t been able to find much of value. A few books had been taken, and the batteries out of my walkman (although, oddly not the walkman itself – clearly too old and crappy even for a Guatemalan thief to bother with). The only other thing missing was, you guessed it, my tampons.
Who would steal tampons but leave a walkman, we wondered. All we could postulate was that perhaps “western” tampons were hard to come across in this part of Guatemala, and could be hawked on the street (along with batteries) to passing tourists. That must be it, we decided as we got into bed. I plumped up my pillows and discovered that there, tucked deep inside the pillowcase of the bottom pillow, were my missing tampons.
This remains one of the great, unexplained mysteries of my life. Any ideas, please let me know.
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