An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

That time of the month when I strangle my dog

Just a heads up that this could potentially be one of those posts where you’re going to want to finish whatever it is you’re eating before continuing any further. I remember all those times when you’ve been like, ARMSTRONG. I was enjoying a lovely ham sandwich and then you had to come along and put WORDS on a SCREEN.

So I’m giving. This is me giving to you. Finish up your lunch because my dog eats tampon applicators.

Yes, I use tampons. I know you’re going to suggest I try a diva cup or something similar, but me? I prefer tampons. Some people prefer Chevy trucks. We call those people Americans. I prefer plastic tampon applicators. You can call me an Environmental Menace.

I tell you what, if a presidential candidate threatened to take away my right to use tampons I’d drive to his house and tie a hundred thousand of them to the trees in his front yard. I totally would.

For those of you who come here for too much information, I present to you yet another gift: I discard my tampon applicators in the garbage can next to my toilet. Unfortunately, that garbage can has no lid. And even more unfortunatelier, Chuck thinks I’m just tossing perfectly fine treats into the trash. Neon colored plastic treats! Mmm, mmm, crunchy!

Snap, crackle, pop!

He sneaks them out of the trash, carries them to various places around the house, and chews them into a dozen tiny pieces. Of course this makes him sick because he inevitably swallows some of those pieces, and I’ll find revolting piles of barf and diarrhea in the corners of three or four different rooms, piles littered with tiny neon shards that once served the purpose of inserting a tampon into my vagina. Wheeeeeeeee! Hi, Dad! Hope you finished your lunch!

I’ve been meaning to get a garbage can with a lid on it, but you know, LIFE. And LAZINESS. So the last couple of times I had a period I’ve been putting the garbage can up on the back of the toilet so that he can’t reach it and feast on that which should never enter his digestive tract and then end up in a mountain of poop on my floor.

But guess what? Chuck is a total asshole! A few days ago he climbed up on my toilet and knocked the trashcan over! WTF?! YOU CREEPY JERK! Minus ten points for you, FREAK.

Afterward I found a few chewed up tampon applicators in the hallway and at the foot of my bed, and then… THEN. THEN. I was downstairs trying to help Leta with her homework after school when she ran up to her room to grab a book she needed to reference. All of a sudden she started screaming, and by the time she came downstairs she was in tears.

“Chuck chewed up some of my toys and they are in so many pieces I DON’T EVEN RECOGNIZE THEM ANYMORE!”

The first thing to enter my brain was: please, for the love of god, tell me you did not touch them.

Second thing was: holy shit, Heather, delay your laughter until a more appropriate time (I DON’T EVEN RECOGNIZE THEM ANYMORE!). Like years from now when she’s grumpy, experiencing cramps, and I get to tell her this whole story to cheer her up.

I told her to wait right there, I’d go “fix” her toys. Sure enough, Chuck had left a pile of crunchy tampon applicators right next to her Barbie dollhouse. I have to admit that they did kind of look like a few Polly Pockets had been shoved through a paper shredder. And one of the chewed up pink applicators did resemble a Barbie high heel.

NOTE TO ALL YOU CRAFTERS WHO USE TAMPONS: Oh my god, the possibilities, am I right?

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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