Skip to main content

My Mother My Roommate Part 4: The Hazards of Drinking Alone

Got home after a long day of work and poured myself a Jack and Coke. I was two stiff drinks in when nature called. 

Yes, I was quite aware that I was in the midst of a visit from my monthly “friend” when I wandered into my master bath. I can depend on finding stashed tampons and maxi pads in every bathroom of my house; three total. For extra emergencies, I have pads and tampons stashed in suitcases, work bags, kitchen drawers, my circus bag and even the glove compartment of my car. Additionally, somewhere in the house, I knew there was an ill purchased Diva cup I got to "save the environment." At this moment, last night, I had completely run out of sanitary products everywhere but the red sea dripping down my leg didn't care. I balled up some toilet paper, put on my ugliest pair of granny panties, called for Camilla (my English bulldog who hates walks but is forced on them) and started walking to my local drug store about a mile up the road. 

STOP! The temperature was a below freezing temp of -17 degrees making it impossible for me to walk without becoming a frozen menstruating Popsicle. Also, impossible for me to drive two drinks in. What’s a girl to do?

I opened up my master bathroom vanity in search of a tiny hot pink draw string bag which contained a squishy silicon vessel, my Diva cup.

I had only tried this device on two occasions; both of which left my nether regions somewhere between uncomfortable and traumatized. Inserting a Diva cup is like shoving a shot glass opening first through a garden hose, but I was desperate. I searched around in the large, unorganized, bathroom vanity drawer I discovered several stray bobbin pins, broken nail clippers and an ear cleaning kit, no Diva cup. I stumbled into the bedroom to slip on my Uggs and discovered the little hot pink bag which held the Diva cup, but there wasn’t a cup inside.

Tired, tipsy and cramping, I sucked up my pride and knocked on my neighbor’s door.  She’s a fellow divorcé and a recent empty-nester. Making a fist, I tapped on the door firmly while I tried to shield the sub-arctic wind with with my other hand. No answer. I looked around clumsily for other neighbors. Marge and Bill live next to the divorcé. Marge is eighty. Probably not going to have Kotex products laying around.

A light bulb went off in my head and I ran back inside. Did I mention that I forgot to close my front door and Camilla ran out in the snow, buried herself and proceeded to chew on something she brought out of the house? Well, there was also that. I ignored Camilla and ran to my hallway bathroom, frantically opened the counter under the sink and ripped open the last box of Depend diapers left from my mother’s stash. 

Ah, the feeling of security. I sat on the edge of the bed and removed my sandals only to hear the yip of Camilla outside in the freezing snow. I opened the front door and looked around the corner. She had a mouth full of snow and was pushing at something under the car. I bent over to examine what she had been chewing on. It was my Diva cup. Finally it had a purpose.


Popular posts from this blog

My Mother My Roommate: Part 3 - February 28, 2018

This is my mom, Betty with my dad sometime in the early 1980s. My dad died in 2008 and my mom's life changed a lot after that. She had to cope with being on her own for the first time in her life. She and my dad were married for 54 years before he passed. She was lonely and her one and only daughter lived over 500 miles away.

Her independence didn't last very long. She moved in with me. She took up residence in my 5 bedroom Victorian doll house in the frozen tundra of Montpelier, Vermont. That is when the real fun started. I have a lot of stories about her. We spent a lot time together and a lot of the time was in the past nine years.

I took this photo of her last year on Mother’s day. If there was ever a mother who deserved a day to celebrate, it was my mom. She was the salt of the earth. She was an unselfish and an amazingly giving person. If you've read my Blog entries, My Mother My Roommate, you know, she’s been living with me for the past nine years; in that time the…

Stopping Inertia part 2 - Cursing Django is out on Kindle

Listen Up! James Comey's book is out and it is kicking the sh*! out of Cursing Django. We gotta do something about that. HAHA!!! I just made myself laugh out loud there for a minute.

Before everyone gets their knickers in a twist, that was NOT a political statement - I was having delusions of grandeur.
For reference: A Higher Loyalty: Truth, Lies , and Leadership
In case you were wondering if there are any similarities, Cursing Django lacks content about compromised email servers and there is no Russian collusion (Irish, French, Algerian, Romany and Polish collusion: Yes, please!). You will not find anything about golf or beauty pageants, but you will read about questionable real estate deals, frequent travel over the Atlantic Ocean and a bully who recruits a group of people into doing his evil bidding. Any correlation to the life of Stormy Daniels is completely coincidental.

Finishing the book last weekend would not have been possible with out my friend Alex Durbin. He graciously …

IRELAND - Swan VS Seagull

When I was a child my parents would ask me where milk came from and I’d say ‘The grocery store.” I also thought that a horse was a “Daddy cow” and a dog was a “Daddy cat.” This embarrassed my father greatly since he was raised on a farm in West Virginia. He subsequently spent hours with me, trying to teach me all of the animals on my Fisher Price See-N-Say. Now the See-N-Say consisted mostly of farm animals. There were no exotic creatures such as sloths, peacocks, dolphins and koalas. With that said, it should come to no surprise that five years ago, when I was at the very ripe age of 39, while visiting Dublin, I made a very, very, HUGE, comical mistake.

Just a little south of Trinity College, there is a park called St. Stephen’s Green. A beautiful old stone bridge traverses a lake, which contains wildlife – children, storks, and “swans.” When I visited St. Stephens Green in April 2013, it was cold, dark and damp. Regardless, I was smitten because to me, this was the most romantic spo…