I believe I have mentioned before that I hate my period. That I loathe all things associated with my permaglitch of a reproductive system, the way it spits out the biological versions of Rorschach ink tests like a bipolar Xerox machine on PCP. That if I feed my ovaries after midnight, they explode like the little mogwai in Gremlins and cackle evilly as they send hormone-lin offspring wreaking havoc throughout my body.
Feminine hygiene products that ought to be developed for women like me should be capable of holding mass in excess of that behind Hoover Dam. They ought to be sold with splash mats and shoulder-high rubber gloves and biohazard containment disposal units and called "Nightmare on Red Street" or "Ebola" or "Always...Bleeding". Rather than coming in light, moderate, and heavy flow, they should be sold in hemorrhage, flash flood warning, and first plague of Egypt.
-elanivalae, in a locked entry, quoted with permission.
If you're a member of tmi_chix, the entry is here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/tmi_chix/1512976.html