Buying goodies

Buying accessories for when it THAT time of the month. My mom calls them goodies, although there are various other names people have come up with over the years, just to disguise their actual purpose: plugs, sticks, bombs etc. I will go with my moms name. Buying goodies has to be one of the worst things.

I discreetly walk up the aisle, making special effort to be seen admiring the shampoo’s and creams before I sneakily grab for the box of tampax, shove it in the shopping cart, then I suddenly realise that I need at least three more items of absolutely no use, just so they can cover up the dreaded box of goodies in the likely event of a granny, or worse: male co shopper, to look inside the cart.

Once at the till, I look around suspiciously to make sure no one is watching me as I throw the box down on its back, so the label “TAMPAX” is faced down. The cashier lifts his head up at my tight grin of greeting, with a look of disdain and boredom in return, this is only the tenth goody shopper of the day to him. Slowly, he scans the box, the till screen pops up the amount to be paid.

Like a drug dealer, I slip him the notes, he hands out the change after I have asked him to please pass over a packet (which needs to be paid for, and packed myselfyourself, this is South Africa after all). Eventually, the goodies are in the bag, you have paid in full and you happily swing them in the packet, comfortable in the fact that they have now been disguised and are out of sight. Until someone knocks into you and the packet breaks, the box opens, and tampons go scattering everywhere.

I look up, from the culprits shoes, to his tight blue jeans, to his light blue golfing shirt, right into his ice blue eyes that make my eyes go watery. The man is gorgeous, and he just knocked out every tampon I had left on me.

Yup, buying goodies sucks. Alot.