Blogging the husband's humiliation. With his approval. Because we're laughing our asses off about it.

I had to send him to the store. I just couldn't deal. He called me so I could try to help him find the right maxi-pads over the phone. He wasn't finding them. So I told him to just come get me, peel me out of bed, crush one of my toes with a hammer so I could forget the pain in my uterus, shove a roll of paper towels down my pants to staunch the bleeding, drive me to the store, slap me in one of those fucking wheelchair thingies and then I would find them myself. (I'm so goddamn sweet when I'm on the rag.) The hub ended up asking a female sales clerk to guide him through the feminine hygiene aisle. That's true love.