If you are a living, breathing woman in the modern world, I guarantee you have period panties.
They come in all shapes and sizes. There's the real fugly (yeah, I still use the term “fugly”) pair of granny panties that are truly unacceptable for you to wear under any other circumstance except when you're bleeding. Or there's the pair of strategically dark-colored lace cheekies you put on to make yourself feel like a little bit less repulsive during your woman time.
I used to think of period panties as, basically, the most disgusting thing on the planet. So much so that there was a period (haha, pun 100% intended) of time during which I would insult people by calling them “period panties.”
I'm not joking. Look:
PERIOD PANTIES: my new go to insult meaning you are ugly and I would menstruate on you — Candice Jalili (@CandiceJalili) February 13, 2014
And yeah, period panties are in fact pretty gross. And I menstruate on them. I typically don't menstruate all over someone or something I respect. In fact, I would go so far as to say that menstruating on top of something is about as disrespectful as it gets.
But then I got to thinking. Remember those times you were a psycho teenager (and maybe last weekend when you were in a particularly bad mood) and you told your mom you hated her? Pretty disrespectful. But you only did that because she was the most ride-or-die person you had. You knew you could say that to her, and she'd know that deep down inside, you still loved her.
Clearly, your mom comes above period panties. But it's sort of the same thing. Out of all of your panties, your period panties are the most loyal. You know you can treat them like sh*t, and they'll still be there at the end of the day.
I can't even say your period panties are there for you through the good times and the bad times, because they never even get the chance to be there for you through the good times. They are strictly there through bad times. We forget about them when life gets good again, until three weeks later, when we come crawling back to hang with them at our most ugly, evil and gross.
They're like that really nice girl who lets the mean popular girl walk all over her in TV shows. You know the one. Maybe they're neighbors or childhood friends or something. Either way, they've got some sort of secret bond that ties them together. She's there for the mean girl when she's feeling sad and alone and vulnerable. But as soon as things are going well for the mean girl, it's See ya later, bye! to the friend who was there for her all along.
The way I see it, your period panties are the secret friend who still choose to be there for you even during your worst, most terrible hours. And your sexy thongs and lacy booty shorts are the fake friends who would probably forget you existed if you stayed in two weekends in a row. You pregame with your period panties. You see your thongs out at the party. You see what I mean?
Your period panties are ride-or-die homies who continue to love you even after they see you as a psychotic, mean, hysterical, hideous, bloated, acne-infested mess demanding anything chocolate-y.
So I am here to give them the credit they deserve. Let's give a shoutout to the real OG homies. Our day ones who stuck around without judgment even after we menstruated all over them for the 14th time. I mean, find me a man who will do that.
Without further adieu, here it is. (I bet you didn't think I actually wrote a love letter to period panties, did you?)
Thank you for forgiving us even after we completely maimed you. Thank you for making us feel fly even when we are bloated and greasy. Thank you for giving us a small shred of comfort in a time marked by extreme discomfort. Thank you for hiding our tampon strings. Thank you for sleeping with us when no one else would. Thank you for not judging us for the hours spent crying at romantic comedies that weren't even that great. Thank you for hugging us when no one else would. Thank you for holding the “farts” we probably shouldn't have trusted. Thank you for tolerating the awkward emergency hand washes in the sink. Thank you for letting us turn you into crime scenes. Thank you for not judging us for keeping you on for as long as we did that one weekend. Thank you for serving as an added barrier between our favorite pants and massive amounts of period blood. Thank you for providing us with a use for the granny panties our moms got us in high school to keep us from wearing thongs. Thank you for existing so that we don't have to bleed into diapers in some womanhood tent. Thank you for giving us an extra incentive not to go home with our ex when we run into him at the bar. Thank you for sticking by me even after all of the times I cursed your name.
I love you,