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Let me tell you folks a story. This is about the perils of ‘for better or for worse’ of marriage. My wife has a bit of a hippy streak in her. Last night I come home and she proudly displays this ‘period cup’ that she has obtained from the internet.
For those of you as unfamiliar with them as I was, they are a little silicone cup that a woman can insert into her vagina that will collect blood from her menses, which she can then dump out and wash and reuse.
This saves the environment because tampons are the 2019 equivalent of plastic 6 pack can rings for the environment. Every one you throw away has a 96% chance of plugging a dolphins blow hole and murdering it.
These period cups can be used for a decade or more she proudly explains. This will save thousands of tampons and thusly also spare thousands of dolphins from terrible slaughtering.
I had a few questions of how it works. It seemed too small to collect the gallons of blood that I assume are produced, but my primary concern was for the safety of our family if she queefs. I’m imagining this thing will become a high speed projectile that could take out an eye.
She attempts to reassure me that this does not actually happen, but I’ve watched enough South Park to know that this could potentially turn into a dangerous situation.
She had inserted it before bedtime, and early this morning after waking up she emerges from the bathroom with a look of sheer horror on her face. This thing is vacuum sealed up in her and she can’t get it out.
I get up and go to the bathroom myself, and upon coming back to the bedroom, she had her foot up on the table and a hand insider her. She looks at me and said ‘you either need to help me or leave’ so of course I promptly left.
Our toddler was just waking up, so I went to go get her and let my wife try to figure this thing out. I thought that she could get it with a little bit of work. No dice. She’s been contorting herself for 20 minutes and can’t get the damned thing to budge.
She looks at me and speaks the words that no training on earth could prepare me for. “Either you need to pull this thing out or I need to go into urgent care” I immediately start trying to calculate what that would cost. We’ve hit our deductible so 20% out of pocket, etc
I take a deep sigh and then prepare to perform a maneuver I’m only assuming is relegated for people who have done a 2 year fellowship in OB/GYN. I washed up to my elbows as if I was scrubbing in. Removed all jewelry as to be fully prepared.
I rolled my sleeves up to my shoulder, as I find myself woefully uneducated as to how these things actually work (I slept through most of A&P class). But before I got to work I proposed a few potential alternatives to her.
First I grabbed the pair of kitchen tongs. The evil glare I got showed that was a bad idea. I then asked her to see if she could queef it out. The potential hazard of a blood filled projectile trumped my own excursion that we had planned. This was immediately shot down as well.
As my ingenious plans were ‘not viable alternatives’ I bucked up and went in there. It took a few minutes and several attempts, but I was able to retrieve this device. Upon completion I handed it to my wife and left to contemplate what had brought me to this point in life.
My wife was sore, and my less than agile handiwork apparently left a little bit of damage, but we are otherwise back to normal, save the crippling emotional damage I will carry with me the rest of my life.
Long story short- screw the dolphins, I hear they’re pricks anyhow. Tampons are just fine. I will also be organizing a go fund me account to cover the ongoing counseling sessions that I will be attending for years to come.
