Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Tampon transit

I’m sneaky, but this time, it failed. I found myself in a long, sleeveless dress without pockets and with a need to carry a tampon surreptitiously. I have no cuffs under which to stuff the tampon, no socks in which to tuck it, and no waistband under which to hide it. Seeing no other way to carry it across the floor, down the stairs, and past three open offices and a lunchroom short of bringing my entire work bag into the stall with me, I stuck it in my bra.

I ended up not needing it at that moment and decided to leave it there for later. However, it’s not there anymore, and it’s nowhere to be found. Crawling around on the floor around my desk looking for it doesn’t seem like a good way to spend my afternoon, so I guess it’ll turn up when it turns up.

Now I just have to decide whether or not to fess up as its owner when it’s found.


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