Alright, perhaps I made a bad decision to experience this passage-of-rites while staying at my grandparents house one summer. I didn't really have any friends there, so I didn't have the guidance of another 13 year old
I also had my first period that Summer, which might or might not have catapulted me into making that ill fated shaving decision. I mean, my grandfather didn't use feminine pads (aka: Kotex) but neither did my grandmother. Which meant my grandmother who had learned to be even more frugal than she was during the Depression, during the World War II years, would make me some nice home made pads and pin them to my little girl panties. Honestly, you can't make this stuff up. After my mother (The Brown Recluse, aka: TBR) had carefully versed me about what to expect (which translates to: "You're going to bleed like a stuck pig... down there. It's called The Curse and you're going to feel like shit while it lasts... roughly 40 years. Get used to it.") Nice pep talk about the joys of becoming a woman, huh?
To tell you the truth, my father's mother wasn't much better, as she called it The Curse too and insisted on making those ridiculously humiliating pads for me from old rags. I had to go out in public in those things, which kept me mortified (24-7) that people would see the leakage before I had the sense to feel it. I have little doubt that this is perhaps how the lovely phrase *on the rag* was started. It sure as hell sounds right to me anyway. My grandmother's explanation was a total cop out. She told me that it had been so long since she'd had a period, she couldn't remember what it was like.
I can honestly tell you that I did not pass my horrid experiences on to my daughter. I'm sure she has demons of her own though... If so........ let me just say "Sorry Daughter. But, if I could survive what I did, I have no doubts that you will survive your charmed life as well." It's not easy being a