Tuesday, August 21, 2012


As I walked the bike up the hill, in front of the St. George theater, I noticed a young girl leaned over, checking a shoelace perhaps.

She was wearing grey stretch pants and, in the way pre-adolescents do, absent-minedly exposing her seat in my direction. I was likely about to chuckle and look elsewhere when I noticed something on her britches. Habitually, I looked again thinking she sat on candy or something when it occurred to me that it was red, on either side and near her crotch. As I passed, I tapped an adult and suggested she have her check her pants, hoping that this woman was close enough to the child to know that she'd started her period/would be able to considerately handle the situation.

Two things:

1) This child appeared to be at most 11 years old. I am fairly certain she was around the high single digits. I will admittedly take the flying leap to the conclusion that we really must stop giving our children hormone laced dairy products.

2) I wonder what it means that, as a hetero male the mere thought of a girlchild's mentral period didn't frighten me into fear and sprinting. It's probably go something to do with my already well-progressed transition into maiden spinsterhood.

Blog Archive