A Brief List of All the Places I Take Menstrual Blood‑Soaked Pads
Earlier today, Union Minister Smriti Irani had this to say about the situation at Sabarimala Temple, where protesters are preventing women of ‘menstruation age’ from exercising their constitutional right to enter:
“I am nobody to comment on the Supreme Court verdict,” Irani said, before proceeding to do just that. “But I believe I have the right to pray, but not the right to desecrate. It is plain common sense. Would you take sanitary napkins soaked in menstrual blood into a friend’s home? So, why would you take them into the house of God.”
I am nobody to comment on where it’s okay to take blood soaked pads, except it’s my personal monthly hobby to take blood soaked pads out on the town.
A brief list of all the places to take menstrual blood-soaked pads:
Friends’ homes. Because my blood-soaked pad has FOMO and it just turns into a whole thing if I don’t invite it along.
The office. It feels more professional to show up and do my job with a blood-soaked pad than skip work, but that’s probably just the hormones talking.
Weddings. What better place to wear red than to an Indian wedding?
Funerals. Commemorating the expulsion of my unfertilised egg as well, of course, the deceased.
Restaurants. I keep my blood-soaked pad in my pants, but it makes me order all of the chocolate desserts so people know.
The gym. I actually mix it up and take a blood-soaked tampon here! Hashtag kegels. (Don’t tell my blood-soaked pad.)
Germany. Where we made a lot of friends. Turns out German women bleed, too! Who knew?
The last Superman movie. This was a questionable choice, I know. But Superman was able to remember all his lines, even though I’m sure his X-ray vision could see through my pants and my blood-soaked pad there making eyes at him.
The mall. But only when I’m buying underwear. Gotta make sure they’ll fit both me and my pad. Hashtag ride or die.
The beach. Again, I cheat on my blood-soaked pad with blood-soaked tampon here. But we’re super discreet. Hashtag theme song from Jaws.
The hospital. I thought it went well, but my blood-soaked pad was uncomfortable when it saw all of the bandages there, like — Ugh, cover up, you sluts.
Bars and clubs. But only occasionally because my blood-soaked pad gets jealous that I get all the attention and literally no one notices it.
A brief list of places I haven’t yet taken menstrual blood-soaked pads to, but probably would:
Smriti Irani’s office. Smriti herself does it, but before you think it’s hypocritical in light of her comment, I beg to differ: It’s not the same as taking a blood-soaked pad to a friend’s; there are no friends to women in Smriti’s office.