Carefree: The Panty-Liner’s Tale


Singularly inappropriate name, let me tell you. All very well for the incontinent old baggage wearing us, oh yes! She – or, in some cases, he (don’t ask!) – may very well be able to relax in the knowledge that we are keeping odours, seepage and general embarrassment at bay; she/he can, indeed, prance about the neighbourhood, free from care and possessed only of a discreet foot-shaped sliver of cotton attached to the old undergarments; but think, Dear Reader, just think what a phenomenally gruesome experience life is for us.

Created in some sordid factory by gum-chewing, chain-smoking bimbettes, whose hands have touched God only knows what before shaping us into our elegant final curves and then bunging us on the nausea-inducing conveyor-belt for packaging by some licensed moron with a face full of pimples and an IQ well below the number of us eventually stashed into a bargain pack of 76.

Consider, if you will, the indignity of lurking in the same section as vaginal douches, preparations for haemorrhoids and other disgusting things humans buy to treat posterial and genital afflictions.

Think seriously about the sheer mental torment of being snatched up by predatory paw (always, for some reason, containing long fingernails painted a particularly unpleasant shade of magenta) and rammed willy-nilly into a basket; of hoping to remain at the back of the shelf, unnoticed by the panty-wearing hoi polloi; of being given so ridiculous a moniker by the tedious and unimaginative – and, at journey’s end, being crammed into a bathroom cabinet cheek-by-jowl (as it were) with medication which should have been jettisoned around the time of the Vietnam War and within spitting distance of the porcelain bowl.

The part between the eager ripping open of the Carefree bag – and the time for our Burial at Sea (or down the lavvy pan, as it is also known in some parts) – I shall leave to your imagination: There are some things in this life which are simply too vulgar for a lady of taste and refinement to discuss in open forum.

Suffice it to say that being ripped into inelegant shreds and flushed down a pipe into the sewer is an over-estimated pleasure. As for the Landfill site: I won’t even go there.

Recycling has a great deal to answer for, in my view, especially as we pads tend to be re-incarnated as ourselves, when once round the toilet system was more than enough!


Don’t make me laugh!


8 thoughts on “Carefree: The Panty-Liner’s Tale

  1. This was really funny, particularly the part about the pimple-laden person on the line. Especially since females that start using these products for the first time might be also getting pimples for the first time!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This was a refreshing laugh I needed. Also, the irony of carefree surrounding one of the more care-inducing products known to woman-kind of certain younger ages…..sigh. Thanks for the creative bent on this one!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. All I can say is that living as I do on the very ass end of the sewage system and at river level to boot, clearing drains is a fun fact of life. Between myself and thirty meters of fibre rod lies a whole world of recycled tampons and sundry hygiene related feminine retail items (and sweet corn always sweet corn). Yes those things casually sent away to serve at sea will, in transition between panty pad and nesting material for the great marine mammals, occasionally pass may way needing merely a prod in the right direction…..

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Julie

    ts; but think, Dear Reader, just think what a phenomenally gruesome experience life is for us.
    Well said.
    Indeed…. Being trapped in a decaying body, on a polluted planet in a mysterious dimension, is no joke.

    Liked by 1 person

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