Inconvenience

There's a sign in the women's restroom at the Westbrook Hannaford grocery store. The sign, stuck on the front of the tampon dispenser, says, in handwritten letters, "Out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Sorry for the INCONVENIENCE? Talk about understatement!!!!! A man must have written that sign! If a woman had written it, it would say, "So sorry and definitely feeling your pain for the disaster when your current sanitary item fails and you lope out of the store hoping no one misinterprets your predicament and calls 911!"

Men have almost no equivalent to this potential for embarrassment. I said "almost no," and I think we all know the one exception, and unless a guy is an adolescent, he can probably psyche himself out of it. Women cannot psyche themselves out of having periods, and so must live in not only physical and mental discomfort on a regular basis, but in fear and worry.

It took me forever to learn how to get comfortable and relatively secure about this phenomenon, and then, just when I got the hang of it, I stopped experiencing it.

I was kind of mad about that, but I've gotten over it.

I thought this anecdote would be a good springboard for a well-reasoned discussion about convenience, and how convenience is more of a god than God to many, many people.

Unfortunately, I find myself squeezed for time to get to my band rehearsal, so I won't be able to share my insights with you. But you've probably already heard quite enough! Right?