my body, the bitch
Just before I was headed over to lose four teeth and $1150, I decided to do a little entertainment shopping. To Futile Shop for DVDs and free gimmes, hurrah! And then into Shoppers I went, hoping to score some decent magazinery for the recovery at home.
That's when it happened: nausea. Maybe it was the freaking perfume department I had to pass when I went into the store, or nerves or the fact that I couldn't find an issue of Mad (my sickgirl comfort), but I had to beat a hasty retreat out of the store, find an already pretty grotty patch of sidewalk, and...dribble? Still icked out, I went up to the Starbucks in the hopes that I could use their facilities.
It was worse than I feared. Way worse. After two months of me gloating that my period had gone on vacation and hadn't even sent so much as a postcard, she had arrived. And I was surprisingly unprepared. No Always, not even a Poise or a lousy pantiliner, in my backpack. About the only thing that I could possibly use for protection was my fresh, sealed Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy towel. For some reason, I don't think Douglas Adams had that in mind (but come to think of it, it's still a practical use). So I did what any girl would do: cram a rainforest's worth of toilet paper down into my own personal rainforest. Comfortable.
On my way out of the store, I lined up to donate pocket change to Katrina relief efforts. Starbucks had done me a solid, and I wanted to do a solid for anyone but Starbucks--but still show that I appreciated their unlocked toilets. It took some effort to get the barista to understand my intent (he kept refusing my money!), but once I explained who the silver was for, he was cool.
And that, my friends, is the last you'll hear of me donating towards Katrina, something I only mentioned because it was part of the story. And yes, I have donated more--so don't get all upset with how much/little I donated or any shit like that. Don't congratulate me on donating, either--that's not what I mentioned it for.
That's when it happened: nausea. Maybe it was the freaking perfume department I had to pass when I went into the store, or nerves or the fact that I couldn't find an issue of Mad (my sickgirl comfort), but I had to beat a hasty retreat out of the store, find an already pretty grotty patch of sidewalk, and...dribble? Still icked out, I went up to the Starbucks in the hopes that I could use their facilities.
It was worse than I feared. Way worse. After two months of me gloating that my period had gone on vacation and hadn't even sent so much as a postcard, she had arrived. And I was surprisingly unprepared. No Always, not even a Poise or a lousy pantiliner, in my backpack. About the only thing that I could possibly use for protection was my fresh, sealed Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy towel. For some reason, I don't think Douglas Adams had that in mind (but come to think of it, it's still a practical use). So I did what any girl would do: cram a rainforest's worth of toilet paper down into my own personal rainforest. Comfortable.
On my way out of the store, I lined up to donate pocket change to Katrina relief efforts. Starbucks had done me a solid, and I wanted to do a solid for anyone but Starbucks--but still show that I appreciated their unlocked toilets. It took some effort to get the barista to understand my intent (he kept refusing my money!), but once I explained who the silver was for, he was cool.
And that, my friends, is the last you'll hear of me donating towards Katrina, something I only mentioned because it was part of the story. And yes, I have donated more--so don't get all upset with how much/little I donated or any shit like that. Don't congratulate me on donating, either--that's not what I mentioned it for.