Well. This isn’t a story I ever thought I’d have to write.
But it’s time.
Last night, after a long day at work, I returned to my home which I distinctly recall not being covered in tampons before I left.
I opened my front door, and was confronted with a bloodied scene.
“Did I truly leave a used tampon by my front door on my way out this morning?” I wondered, having known myself to do strange things before 10am.
And that’s when I looked up.
There were two dark eyes staring at me, surrounded by torn apart tampons.
Periods, pads and travelling horror stories. Post continues.
“You d*ckhead,” I said sternly.
He looks guilty but also like it was most definitely worth it.
My dog, Caesar, opened my bathroom door which was purposefully closed (yes he can use a door handle I’ve seen him do it) and went through the bin next to my toilet, which happened to have three or so used tampons in it.
It’s not like he eats them. He just sort of sniffs them and tears them apart in a bid to make me feel shame.
I’d have an intervention with Caesar if this was the first time such an incident had occurred. But dogs pull this sh*t all the time.
The first time was when I was about 14 years old, and had only just got my first period.
My mum was away, and I remember my dad saying, “Oh no! It looks like Ted is bleeding.”
Teddy was not bleeding.
Teddy was holding in his mouth a used pad like it was some treasure he had found and thought we might like.
No one liked it and I cleaned up the mess through tears.