The Stinkhole

I've been sitting in the same pj bottoms off and on for the last month straight. They finally stink too much for me to bare. And well all know the rule that your own armpits, farts, puss, dick, and poop (whatever), don't bother yourself. So, if the pj's are at the level that's botherin' me, well, it probably is that stinky. I suppose some people would call it depression. I think I am calling it freedom.

I've always been the fat stinky girl. I was teased about it in school. Murphy and Scott, the "it" boys would never kiss a girl like me. They would never help a girl like me. They would never love a girl like me. Yet, years later, Scott and I would make out in the back of someones pick-up truck from a party. We were fucked up. I don't think we actually fucked, but I was really drunk - hard to recall. I do recall that he wasn't that great, and I was learned that valuable lesson about crushes not equaling in real life to what to had in you imagination. Not at all. He was drunk, and he made out with the fat stinky chick. I'm laughing right now. You, Scott, did probably hit that, and you will have to live with that secret shame, unless someone saw us, then it's the public shame you will have to live with.

My stepmother was very conservative. Weirdly conservative. She wouldn't let me shave, or have deodorant or tampons like the other girls my age. As I developed, that only added to the problem of being teased. The day I started my period, I was in gym class. I thought that I had the stomach flu, or something was wrong with my appendix. It was painful, confusing and awkward.

It would turn out that I was just having cramps.

As I sat in the cold, concrete and plywood bathroom stall in that darkened fake light of the gym bathroom, with my light blue polyester gym pants and plain cotton underwear around my ankles....I saw the blood smears. I yelled to my friend to go get the coach. Why? Just go get the fuckin coach!!!!!!!!

The coach leaned over the stall door, and I pointed. She was tall and super tan with a super blond Dorothy cut and probably a lesbian. We didn't know that word yet. And if I had, I probably wouldn't have cared, even despite my small town upbringing. She said it, like it was so simple, that it was my period. Jesus, are you kidding me?!?!!!

I responded that I knew that, what the fuck was I supposed to do with it? She didn't even flinch at the f work, and asked, didn't I have anything with me, like pads or tampons. No, why would I? Ohhhhhh, it's your first time, she responded with a sweet smile. I hated that sweet smile, of knowing that I was now in some club, I was growing up. All I was feeling was the shame of not being prepared. The shame of not having a mother who would have helped me. The secret club that I didn't know the rules of. The shame. Damn, everyone's going to know that I'm not normal, yet again. Nice.

Coach brought me a pad. I took the crinkly paper of the sticky part of the pad. It sounded so loud, everyone would know what I was doing. The crinkly sound was unmistakable. Hey!!! Someone's putting a pad on!!!! Someone is bleeding!!!!! Someone is not cool enough to have big girl tampons!!!!!! Someone is a fat bleeding stinky dork with giant pads!!!! Look!!! Look!!!!

I put it on, the big bulky old school diaper thing. It was going to show. God, I hope I put it on right and I don't bleed through my pants. Please god not that. I got dressed and was going to lunch. As I walked down the hall the coach walked with me, trying to give me the "speech", some speech. I just wanted to take my diaper wearing self to lunch. As she talked she was completely unaware that my boyfriend was only walking a few steps ahead of us. I couldn't shut her up. In all fairness, it probably was a chance for her to connect, to be important to someone for something, but I couldn't be concerned with that. Other people in the hall where listening, too. Just another thing to add to the reasons to tease me. I was now a breeder and bleeder.

My stepmother and father didn't know what to do with it either. They both gave me some talk, that I tuned out. They were both so uncomfortable talking to me, and in my mind, it was my fault, my body's fault. I still didn't get deodorant, razors, and tampons. I began to steal them from the Albertson's and the Piggly Wiggly. Luckily, I never got caught. I can't even imagine trying to explain that. Or, maybe someone saw me, and took pity on the fat, stinky girl stealing sanitary items.

I already had a theft problem due to some other stuff, which I will not include in this story, so what was stealing necessities? I wouldn't get rid of the stealing habit till years later. And it took me forever to get the courage and comfort to buy those items without turning red in the face...no matter how many other items went across the conveyor belt of the check out line. I would choke up and get red in the face.

Try working and using a tampon from the instructions that are included in the box with their lovely pink ink and badly drawn renditions of the female body in complete isolation. I was smart, but it was painful. No,it's not that hard of a contraption to work, but sitting on the toilet seat, hoping no one will walk in you're while balancing the instructions on your legs and working the said stolen contraption....well, it's hard the first couple of times. You are putting something that is cottony but looks huge into an orphus of your body, where stuff didn't go before. And thus began my no pain no gain beauty tactics/regimen. I'm sure there is some girl out there who stuck the damn thing up her ass, I wasn't one of those, but it still wasn't pleasant.

I prayed for boobs and smooth legs and even my period. I read "Oh God, It's Me Margaret." I wanted to be a woman. As, a woman I could do anything I wanted. What a joke that can be. That's what we do...we pray and hope, then we get them, and realize that it sucks. All three things suck. That begins the eternal confused mind of being a woman. We learn from that moment how to be completely indecisive. So, you want to know where it comes from, it's that fucking bleeding moment. We learned to always second guess ourselves right from that one moment, because we totally got screwed on our wishes then.

I've been skinny and smelly goody. It's just not me. It got me a lot of attention that I didn't want from stuff that wasn't important to me. I guess both sides of the coin have their drawbacks. It wasn't until I grew up, really grew up, that I was comfortable in my own skin - even when it stinks. I put importants on other matters. Don't get me wrong there are times I smell good, I'm cool with it, I'm just not uncomfortable when I stink - and I'm not a total stinkhole....just sometimes.

Freedom smells just like me.