I like to live on the edge. Which is why I decide that the day I’m wearing a string bikini on my first international holiday with PIC (and his parents) is the perfect opportunity to try out my new Diva Cup.
The Diva Cup, for those of you who don’t know, is that latest answer to the unyielding scourge of “feminine hygiene.” In a nutshell, it’s a flexible silicone cup that collects your menstrual blood at the source. Once it’s full, you just dump it out, wash it, and reinsert.
For environmental reasons, I’d been considering making the switch for some time. After reading Menstrual Cups are a Feminist Issue, though, and realizing that “feminine hygiene” is almost as stupid a phrase as “ethnic hair products,” (which is to say that it serves only to reinforce the sense that those of us requiring either—the hygiene assistance or the hair products— are somehow less than, and Lord help you if you require both) I finally decided to take the plunge.
It takes me a good three tries to get the damn thing in but once I get the hang of it, I decide to up the ante: a booze cruise. A booze cruise upon which I’ll be wearing my white linen pants.
I should perhaps pause to explain that I’ve always had some difficulties when engaging in nautical activities during “that time of the month.”
In junior high, before I learned how to use tampons, I went swimming and discovering that my maxi pad had somehow dislodged itself and was making its way up towards my shoulder blades.
A few years later, when the threat of missing a friend’s pool party provided the catalyst for me to finally stop being afraid of tampons, I spent the afternoon waddling around with half of the cardboard applicator stuck inside because I didn’t realize you were supposed to pull both parts of the tube out.
I’ve come a long way but once I got through the booze cruise with my Diva Cup and nary a leak, I decided I was ready for the ultimate challenge: an international flight and an airplane bathroom.
Up until then, my only real issue with the cup was getting it in. It requires intermediate to advanced-level origami skills (the directions provide not one but two different folding techniques) and you also have to be a bit of a ninja—at least that’s how I felt the first time when I went hopping from the toilet to the edge of the tub and finally to the floor to get the right angle.
But once you finish with the arts and crafts portion and the bathroom gymnastics, the Diva Cup is a godsend. And I’m happy to report that by the time I found myself in the bathroom of our direct flight back to Philadelphia, I was a pro: no ninja moves required.
Did this post gross you out? If so, I’m sorry to say that’s your problem.
There is nothing unhygienic about getting your period. There is nothing wrong with it, nothing unclean about it and there should be nothing embarrassing about it.