When I was about thirteen years old and had a subscription to Seventeen magazine (did anyone older than fifteen actually read Seventeen?), my favorite thing to read when a new issue arrived was the Traumarama section, where girls could write in with their most embarrassing stories. There are a few of these stories that have stayed with me over the years - like the one where the girl at the sleepover reveals that she has hairs growing around her nipples and her host's hottie older brother is eavesdropping on their conversation; or the one with the girl who forgets to bring underwear with her to the pool and so is walking home with her short shorts on and nothing underneath when the cutie she was crushing on spies her dangling tampon string - and tugs on it, thinking it's a loose thread on her shorts. OMG! I would like totally die!
In retrospect it's clear that most of these stories were created by the sadistic editors (or interns) at
Seventeen and not written by mortified teen girls, but at the time, they were like a ray of hope to my awkward adolescence: however embarrassed I was, at least my crush didn't inadvertently pull out my tampon.
Here is a story of something that happened to me today - embarrassing, but not as bad as being de-tamponed by a hottie:
This morning I started my period, and that (combined with the handful of chocolate chip cookies I ate for breakfast) left me crampy and bloated. By the time I got David to preschool and stopped at the post office, my jeans were pinching and my stomach was churning, and I was praying I'd make it home and to the bathroom in time. I unbuttoned my jeans as I slipped into the seat of the van and tried not to speed, mentally rehearsing the conversation I'd have if I was pulled over: I'm sorry I was speeding, Officer, and I'll gladly accept a ticket, but I'm having Lady Troubles, so would you mind following me home and writing me up after I've gone to the bathroom? Or better yet, how about driving ahead of me with your lights on?
I finally pulled into my icy driveway and did a squirmy little dance as I unbuckled Noah and wrestled Peter's carrier from the car. As I turned I saw my mailman (if I did submit this story to Seventeen you can be sure they'd refer to him as my "super-hot mailman," but in fact he's bald and chain-smokes) looking my way as he climbed back into his mail truck, so I gave a quick wave as I pulled the van's sliding door closed - and then I promptly slipped on the ice and landed on my butt.
I quickly pulled myself to my feet, doing my best to look nonchalant and not at all in Lady Troubles-related distress; but I stood too fast and my - comfortably unbuttoned - jeans fell down to my ankles.
So there you have it: my Daily Traumarama. Now all I have to do is re-write it so it's set in math class and the school hottie sees my sagging granny panties, and it's all ready for Seventeen.
Comments
Hope you're feeling better soon....and that you're able to not run into your mailman for a while.